


Rise of the Winchester pack

by darkness173



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Scent Marking, Superwolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkness173/pseuds/darkness173
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has abandonment issues and finds an ill-fitting substitute for his adored baby brother, who just left for college. Derek has seriously shitty taste in love interests and keeps getting crushes on people, who hunt his kind. One seeks a family, the other a pack. They find that and more in each other for a while. Supernatural/Teen Wolf Crossover, Slash - Dean/Derek</p><p>Note: Tags to be added as the story proceeds. Rating will veeery probably change as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First encounter

**Author's Note:**

> First time I wrote such a long crossover. Will update soon! I am so sorry if my English sucks or stuff sounds wrong, I'm not English and I've never been in the USA. You are welcome to point stuff out to me, if you notice something and feel like telling me. I don't own the characters, I just spent quite some time using them to satisfy my weird fantasies.

Sam was gone. Sam had been gone for _weeks_. "This isn’t the life I want, Dean," he had said, and the next day, he was gone. Then, written down: "I'm gonna go to college. Make friends - maybe even get a girlfriend? I'm gonna be a lawyer and have a normal life. I don't care anymore what you and dad say. I know you don't agree, I know you want to find whoever killed mom. But she’s dead. She's not coming back, not even if we find and kill them. I'm done with this life. I'm sorry, Dean, but this is my final decision and I'm not coming back. Good bye. I love you. Tell dad I love him too, despite what he said."

He had at least left that note, also telling where he had gone: Stanford. And it was a good thing, too, that he had left a note and not told Dean those things face-to-face, because Dean was sure he would have snapped at the words regarding their mother. He also would have made a huge fuss and physically restrained Sam from going, probably...

Well, thing was, Sam was gone. And so was their dad, because he had gotten so angry that he had taken his truck and drove off with "there's a case in Wyoming, gonna get over there and check it out" as the only explanation.

Any other day, Dean would have followed his dad anywhere. Any other day, Sam would have been right there though, in the passenger seat of the Impala, and whined about having to listen to the same old tapes since, like, forever.

But these days, Dean was just driving around – like right at the moment. He would have loved to deny it, but as he thought about his little brother, a single tear managed to escape the corner of his eye and slip down his cheek. He just wanted to stop at the first town he crossed, find the first bar available and get shit-faced.

It was two hours later when he finally parked the Impala in the parking lot of some shady bar in a small village at the border of North Dakota. The sun had already set since a few hours, but the temperature was still pleasantly warm. Dean got out of the car, shut the door and fondly ran his hand over her roof. "Just the two of us now, baby," he muttered under his breath, before walking over to the entrance of the bar. Judging by its name (House of Bear, seriously? If that was a reference to beer it was like the worst pun ever?) and the looks he got as soon as he entered it, this wasn't exactly the best of places to have a drink, but as good as any to get piss-drunk. Who cared about the creepy bear-based decor littering the walls (like lots and lots of stuffed heads and furs), everybody in there seemed to be drinking huge mugs of beer and that was just fine by him. He sat down on a stool at the bar, making himself comfortable and took a look around. People had returned to mind their own business (thank God for small miracles) and as soon as Dean got his own mug of beer, he started to feel like this place wasn't as bad as he had first thought. He planned to drink a shitload, spacing out most of the time, thinking about Sam - his little Sammy – states away, who had decided he no longer needed a family, as long as he could realize his dreams and forget about the supernatural. 

It hurt. It hurt a great deal. He missed his baby brother, but if this was what Sam truly wanted, he had to deal with it. 

He was halfway through his third beer, a little fuzzy around the edges, as he hadn't even bothered to eat dinner before, when turmoil outside caught his attention.

There were shouts and noises of running, and though he felt like he deserved a break from freaking drama, a little action never failed to raise one's mood. The other people in the bar seemed interested too, but nobody bothered to get up and take a closer look, so Dean effectively chugged down the rest of his drink, slapped a few bills on the counter and then hastily exited the bar. He could hear noises coming from down the road on his right, so he ran, noticing how the path led into some sort of woodsy area after a while. And then he abruptly came to a halt and hid behind a tree, unholstering his gun. A few dozen feet in front him were three men. Well, more like, a boy, probably a few years younger than him (like Sammy, little Sammy) and two men around the thirties. One of the men was holding the boy face-down against the earthy ground, twisting his arm harshly behind his back. It looked like one wrong move might be enough to dislocate his shoulder. The other was holding a gun to his head and hissing at him - things Dean couldn't quite make out from this distance. 

This was definitely not a supernatural case, something for the police mostly, but well, Dean wasn't about to let a poor kid get killed just because human monsters weren't exactly his business. He breathed heavily, the adrenaline making his heart pump twice as fast as usual. He needed to act fast, but he couldn't just kill the guys, and with the distance and the darkness of the night, he wasn't confident he would be able to shoot an arm or a leg, without injuring any vital arteries. His eyes flitted left and right, before landing on a long and thick cut off branch, lying on the ground. Perfect. He moved quietly, as he sneaked over to it, lifted it up and then proceeded to stealthily approach the trio, hiding in the shadows of trees and bushes. As soon as he was close enough, he could hear them talk.

"I asked you a fucking question, you goddamned mutt!" 

There was a rustling of clothes and dry leaves and then a sharp cry. Freaking assholes had probably dislocated the poor kid's shoulder if the pop hadn't been just his imagination. Dean could feel rage well up in him. He thought about anyone hurting Sam like that and closed in, balancing the heavy branch in his hand like a baseball. The guys were so focused on the kid, yelling insults about "his whore of a sister", "fucking filthy mutts" and beating the shit out of the boy, that they didn't even notice when Dean was right there, behind the guy with the gun. He raised his make-shift bat and swung it hard and fast against the back of the man’s head, taking him out cold. The second man didn't even have the time to fully realize his buddy was down, before getting hit in the temple. Dean let the branch fall to the ground, realizing he was trembling slightly (he wasn't used to dealing with human beings) and gingerly kneeled down to check both men's pulses. They were still alive, fortunately, but that just meant he had to get the kid out of there fast. 

Speaking of which: The kid was still curled up in a position which revealed he had been trying to protect his gut from being kicked into a messy pulp just a second ago. It didn't look like he had had any success though, considering his right arm was hanging limply and in a slightly unnatural angle from his body and therefore must have been barely usable for protection.

"Jesus, do you think you're able to get up?" Dean asked, trying to see more in the slight moon light. The kid was lanky, dark-haired. He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, but he couldn't tell more in that light. 

"C'mon, I'll give you a hand," Dean muttered, as he got no reply but a few pained groans, gingerly taking a hold of the kid's uninjured arm and pulling him up until they were both standing. The kid whimpered through it, but he surprised Dean by relocating his shoulder as soon as he was on his feet (not without an agonized howl, but still impressive).

"Dude."

"Let's get the hell away from here," were the first words the kid spoke and Dean couldn't agree more. His voice wasn’t high-pitched like a child's, but not entirely developed into a man's voice either. It reminded him of Sam, when he was fifteen and struggling through the worst of puberty.

They made it back to the parking lot in complete silence and Dean was a little put off by the fact that the kid seemed to be able to walk just fine and without any help, despite having just suffered a serious beating. He was definitely tougher than he looked. When they got to the Impala Dean made a gesture towards her.

"Is that your car?" the kid asked, soothingly rubbing his bad arm.

"Yeah. There a place I can drop you off? Are you going to be fine? Do you want me to bring you to a hospital? Should we call the police?" Dean questioned, leaning an arm against the roof of his baby.

"No, no hospital! And no police!" the kid shouted, before seeming to realize his mistake and visibly calming down. He repeated, calmer "No hospitals and no police, please. The next motel should just be fine."

"Well, okay," Dean replied. He stared at the kid for a while, noticing how he started to fidget under his stare. "I'm headed for a motel myself, as well, anyway. What's your name?"

The kid hesitated, his gaze flickering shortly to where Dean's gun was hidden under his dad's old leather jacket. Dean frowned, but didn't voice his confusion – had the kid somehow seen it? – and waited for an answer instead.

"Derek," said the kid - no, Derek. Only the first name, but Dean could deal with that. He didn't share his family name either, after all. 

"Well, Derek, I'm Dean and we are going to have a long talk, as soon as we find a motel. Because those two guys back there?" He used his thumb to point towards the woods. "It looked like they were gonna kill you if I hadn't been there. And we need to be ready in case they come looking for us again."

"For us? I won't be your problem anymore, once we get to the motel," Derek said, his face scrunching up in confusion.

"Dude, I'm not leaving you alone until this shit is cleared up," was Dean's firm answer. He unlocked his car and ordered a "Get in!" before slipping behind the wheel himself. Derek got around the car and joined him on the passenger side, wincing only slightly, when his battered body came into contact with the Impala’s seat.

"Look, I appreciate that you helped me. Really. But I can take care of myself and I don't need a babysitter," Derek said, as soon as he had made himself comfortable. Dean started the car and rolled out of the parking lot, taking the road in the opposite direction he had come from earlier that evening.

"Yeah, I see how you can take care of yourself just fine. I mean, you had a guy twisting your arm behind your back and another pointing a gun at your head, but I guess you could’ve handled it fine on your own." Dean couldn't help the sarcasm, as he concentrated on driving to the next town as fast as legally possible.

"Shut up. It would have been different if it wasn't for the wo- the gun."

"Okay, Jackie Chan."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and Dean found himself in a surprising good mood, considering a few hours before he had still been whining over Sam leaving. Now there was a kid sitting in his car with him, and though it wasn't his baby brother, it felt good to not be alone.

About an hour later, they found a motel. It was small and shabby-looking, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he was sure the kid didn't really care either. 

"Wait here," he said, turning off the engine and getting out of the car to pay for a room. Looking at it objectively, he knew he was being a freaking idiot - he didn't even know this kid and was leaving him alone in his car and renting a single room with two twin beds for them. He knew it was insane, but it felt like the right thing to do, somehow. 

When he got back outside, the Impala was still there, fortunately, and Derek was leaning against her hood, looking upset. He had his hands shoved inside the pockets of his jacket, his brow was furrowed and his jaw tense.

"C'mon, room 13 over there," Dean muttered, nodding towards it. He quickly got his duffel out of the back and then headed towards their room. He heard Derek hesitantly follow, before asking: "Did... did you just get a room, as in for both of us?" 

"Yeah, so? Not to be rude, but you don't look like you got a lot of money on you, kid. Also, I told you we were gonna have a talk."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Derek nervously nibbling on his bottom lip. Looked like he wasn't the only one thinking about being an idiot for being too trusty.

"So, you don't... uhm... want anything from me?" the kid asked, with a voice so tiny Dean wondered for the first time if maybe he was younger than he looked. 

"Dude, are you fuckin’ kidding me? That's sick, man, not to mention you could be my younger brother or something," Dean replied, grimacing at the implying.

"You’re not lying. Well, okay," the kid muttered. And he seemed to be happy to follow then, just like that. He needed to have a talk with the kid about taking people for their word - this couldn't be safe, seriously.  

They entered the motel room, which was just as shitty as Dean had expected, but at least the light green sheets of the beds looked clean enough and there wasn't too much dust on the furniture. The kitty pictures on the walls were rather cheesy though. Whatever, they weren't staying past tomorrow anyway.

“It smells of cat piss in there," Derek groaned, carefully slipping out of his jacket and throwing it over a chair in the corner of the room. There wasn't even a small table to accompany it, just that mere chair, Dean noted. He sniffed, noticing the smell only faintly. Ugh.

"Well, isn't this a great place to crash," he joked, taking off his own jacket, as well, leaving it on the bed closest to the door. "You can have the first shower. I guess you deserve it after a night like that," he offered, gesturing towards the bathroom.

Derek looked hesitant for a moment, almost bashful, before effectively leaving the bedroom and closing himself up in the bathroom. Dean waited until he could hear the water running, before placing his duffel on the floor and rummaging through it. He found the salt and started lining it up in front of the door and the window. He wasn't taking any chances, just because he was sharing the room with some kid. God, he was sharing a room with a complete stranger. The hell was wrong with him?

When he was done with all security measures (hiding his knife under the pillow, checking the room for anything suspicious and finding only a big dead spider behind the trashcan - shiver - gross!), he lay down on the bed and flicked on the small TV on the dresser at the feet of their beds. Well, at least it worked. 

When Derek came back, wearing all his clothes once more, but with noticeably more tousled hair, Dean got to really check him out in the light for the first time. Just as he had already perceived before, Derek was lanky, but obviously starting to fill out in all the right places. He also had to be more or less a head shorter than Dean, roughly estimating. He had almost black, short and thick hair and a pretty, boyish face, though it was starting to sharpen out already. 

"Go on. It's all yours," Derek's voice cut through his thoughts. Dean blinked, realizing that staring at the kid after the conversation they had had outside wasn't exactly the best of ideas. He switched off the television (kid could switch it back on himself if he wanted), rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom without further words. He just hoped the kid wasn't cheeky enough to go through his duffel, because he didn't want to explain why he had a small collection of weapons and strange "satanic" artifacts on him.

Dean took off his clothes, dropping them carelessly onto the floor, before stepping into the shower. He turned on the faucet and groaned as warm water cascaded down on him. This place had a decent shower, if nothing else. He took his sweet time, washing himself until the water started turning cold and then turned off the shower and stepped out of it. Roughly drying himself up, he wrapped the towel around his hips and picked up his clothes, before returning to the bedroom. Derek had slipped under the covers of his bed, though he was sitting with his back leaning against the headboard, clearly waiting for Dean. And looking kind of nervous too, if the wide eyes and the clenched jaw were anything to go by. Dean cocked an eyebrow, but just threw his clothes beside his duffel, holding the towel firmly in place while he looked for a pair of boxer briefs, a t-shirt and some sweatpants to wear through the night. Once he was dressed, the towel joined the dirty clothes on the floor and he made himself comfortable on the bed, keeping one leg angled to lean his elbow on it.

"Alright, Derek. Who were those guys and what did they want from you?" he started right away, without talking around it. Derek eyed him warily (he had nice eyes, almost the same color as Sammy’s).

"They were hunt- I mean, bounty hunters. After my sister..." Derek revealed, fidgeting with the blankets. Dean frowned. Why the hell were bounty hunters after this kid's sister? Was she some sort of VIP? Or were they part of some gang?

"Why?"

"Family business. My family... has some sort of conflict with another one."

Mafia then. Jesus, what had Dean gotten himself into? As if he didn't have enough to deal with, what with the supernatural and all. 

"Wow. Okay, I didn't expect that. Where's your sister then?" he asked, noticing how grim Derek seemed, while talking about this issue. He looked suddenly very small and broken and Dean felt a painful tug in his chest. Sam used to have that look too, every time they left a town after a successful hunt, where he had managed to create himself a small life in a matter of weeks.

"I don't know. I ran away from home some months ago."

Dean kind of froze. This was all reminding him a little bit too much of his Sammy and it was starting to become almost ridiculous. 

"Why would you do that?" he inquired. Derek's face scrunched up and he seemed more pissed than sad, then.

"Look, I appreciate the help, as I already said, but to be blunt, this is none of your business and I already told you too much as it is. So unless you're some sort of... professional, who knows how to deal with this kind of thing, there's really nothing you can do to help me further. Not that I need any help, at all. I'll leave tomorrow."

Dean's brow rose at the little outburst and he just studied the kid for a while, before shrugging. 

"Fair enough," he replied. "But considering I sort of _am_ a professional, I could help you out with this. You would be safer with me than alone. So I'll let you sleep over it and then we'll talk about this again in the morning, alright?"

Derek huffed irritated, shuffling deeper under the covers and turning his back to Dean. He muttered a low "whatever" and Dean slipped into his bed as well, turning off the lights. He thought about Sam at Stanford, wondered if he was okay, missing him dearly for a few moments, before concentrating on the soft breathing coming from the bed beside him and falling asleep peacefully.


	2. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is having a really hard time deciding what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so here's the next part. Gotta study for the rest of the week, so expect another update next week or so. Hope this doesn't suck too much. :) Thanks to everybody who read this so far!

Derek woke up to the sound of a heartbeat he wasn't familiar with. The smells were all wrong too, but he was used to that by then, as he had been spending nights on the streets and in random motel rooms or other available buildings for a while now. At least he was warm and rather comfortable, so wherever he had ended up the night before couldn't be too bad.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his sight. And the first thing he saw, was some random dude, sleeping in another bed next to his. His eyes widened comically, body going all tense, before he actually remembered what had happened. The Argents had found him. They had hunted him down, threatened him with a gun loaded with wolfsbane bullets and questioned him about his sister's (his alpha's) whereabouts. He might have run away from home, after one too many discussions (she couldn't understand, would _never_ understand why he smelled of guilt and pain all the time), but he would rather die than endanger her. They were all each other had left, after all…

This guy - Dean? -  had saved his ass. He didn't have any doubts that the Argents would have tortured him to the point of insanity - if not outright killed him, estimating him useless since he wouldn't give in - if Dean hadn't helped him out. He didn't know what reasons Dean had to do that, but the guy didn't smell hostile and so far he hadn't really lied either (or at least his heartbeat hadn’t revealed anything). Derek would just write it off as Dean being a genuinely good man, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a damn hunter. The scent of leather, gun powder and blood, mixed up with his own personal fragrance. The salt lining the door and window (he had smelled it, before actually seeing it). His clothes, plain and practical, the duffel bag filled with various knives and guns, a journal filled with notes about strange supernatural beings. It was ridiculously obvious. He had checked while Dean was in the shower and he had been tempted to just leave, then, but realized it wasn't safe wandering around alone with the Argents nearby. Dean might be a hunter, but he didn't seem to be familiar with the Argents. If Dean didn't work with them, he wasn't much of a danger to him, as most hunters outside of the Argent family knew only how to deal with bitten omega werewolves. Most of them didn't know about born werewolves, pack dynamics and the things that could actually hurt them. There hadn't been any wolfsbane, mistletoe or mountain ash among his stuff, which at least confirmed his suspicions. His conclusion had been that he was safer with Dean, especially as long as - since he didn't know what he was. And even if he somehow did find out, he would be able to defend himself and flee just fine.

And who knew… maybe Dean was different? Maybe he – even if he knew – wouldn’t care, if he realized he wasn’t dangerous…?

Derek's thoughts were interrupted by the bitter smell of sorrow, coming from Dean's side of the room in waves. His heart rate had slightly increased as well, and he was twitching, obviously about to wake up. Derek took a moment to stare at this stranger, who had offered to take him under his wing even though they had never even seen each other before. He was ridiculously handsome, what with being tall, muscular, brown-haired, green-eyed and having the prettiest face Derek had ever seen on an adult guy. He felt the faintest hint of attraction, before immediately blocking it off. He was not going to let himself feel attracted to anyone ever again and most of all - not to a hunter. 

With a heavy sigh, Derek climbed out of bed and put on his sneakers, just as Dean was groaning and struggling into a sitting position. 

"Crap, I forgot to set the alarm. What freakin’ time is it?" the guy mumbled. With a look over his shoulder while he was slipping on his jacket, Derek saw him check the time on his cellphone and rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

"Eleven o'clock? Could’ve been worse," huffed Dean, before climbing out of his bed, too. Derek sat down on the chair in the corner, fidgeting with his hands, really not knowing what to think of Dean and the whole situation. He cast glances in the hunter's direction as he put on some clothes and shoved all his belongings into his duffel bag. Once he was done, he caught Derek's gaze with his own and asked: "You up for lunch in the diner on the other side of the road?"

Derek just shrugged, knowing he should leave for his own good, but finding himself strangely reluctant to do so, after all the thought he had invested in Dean _probably_ being no menace. All of his wounds had healed overnight (he hoped Dean didn't notice the lack of injuries), he had finally had a few hours of decent sleep in a warm place (even if it reeked) and he was in the company of somebody, who seemed to be on his side for now. Emphasizing the "for now". It was the most of luck he had had in a while and Derek wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Though he probably should…

"Yeah. Yeah, I could eat," he answered instead, pushing himself off the chair.

"Awesome, c'mon then."

They took short turns in the bathroom and then left the room. As they walked past Dean's car (a rather nice Chevy Impala 67, almost as nice as Laura's Camaro) the hunter gently patted her roof, before throwing the duffel in the back. They then walked over to the small diner "Aunt Emily's" and slipped into the first free booth. Saying that Derek felt slightly uncomfortable sitting vis-a-vis a man he didn't even know the last name or age of, while studying a menu with various simple meals, would be the understatement of the year. 

"Oh God - they have homemade bacon burgers," Dean moaned, face buried in the menu. "They have some healthy rabbit food, too, just like something Sammy would’ve taken," he murmured softly, obviously not meant to have an audience. The smell of sorrow was back and Derek lowered the menu, glancing over at the other man. The faint sweetish smell of a young man in the car (it probably was Sammy's right?), the recurrent bursts of sorrow emanating from Dean, the speaking to a person, who wasn't there. This Sammy must have been really important to Dean (A relative? A close friend? ...) and he was either dead or gone for other reasons.  

"Do you think the bacon burgers are good around here?" Derek asked, trying to loosen up the heavy mood.

"I freakin’ hope so, considering I haven't eaten one in ages. Also, I'm seriously starving," Dean replied, carelessly dropping the menu on the table.

Shortly after, a pretty, dark-haired girl in her twenties approached their table holding a small notepad and a pen in her hands.

"Hello boys, what can I get you?" she asked with a sweet smile. Derek studied her for a second, hearing the light skip of her heartbeat as she expectantly looked at Dean, who was shamelessly flirting with her. The slowly expanding smell of attraction from both sides was repulsive.  

"Well, hey there, sweetheart. I'll take a coke and the bacon burger special with the onion rings," ordered Dean, leaning back against his seat and relaxing his posture, showing off an inviting body language. 

The girl reacted flustered despite being obviously interested, and she turned to Derek, who just stared at her blankly. 

"What about you?" she asked, her smile faltering slightly at the sight of his grim face. 

"Still water and the burger, too. But with a side of salad," he muttered. She scribbled on her notepad, gave Dean another bashful smile and then walked off to deliver their orders.

"Dude, she's fuckin’ hot," Dean commented, as soon as she was out of earshot. He leaned his elbows back on the table top and frowned at Derek, when he just shrugged in reply. "What? Not your type?"

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes annoyed. "She's fine," he answered in hope of concluding that particular topic. He couldn’t help but think about long, golden curls, emerald eyes and sunbathed skin. He couldn’t help but think about perky breasts, and long slender legs wrapping around his hips and fingernails leaving behind bloody welts on his back. Smoke and screams of agony. He panicky forced himself to stop thinking, roughly rubbing his face with both hands.

"Are you okay?" a voice interrupted his little moment. He raised his gaze and in the sunlight shining in from the huge window on his right, Dean's hair looked almost golden. His eyes were green like emeralds, his skin smooth and tanned. And he was a hunter too.

Derek abruptly stood up and ran out of the diner. He had been an idiot for underestimating Dean. Hunters were unpredictable. They were all the same. If Dean had known he was a werewolf, he wouldn't have helped him – that was for sure. He would have left him for dead and he would have genuinely believed to have done the right thing. Hunters didn't have a heart, when it came to creatures like him and he had been stupid to let himself believe he was safe for even an eye blink. Dean didn’t know he was a werewolf, but if he were to find out, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would try to get him killed, somehow. Sometimes wolfsbane and mistletoe weren't necessary to do that...

And now his eyes were burning and his throat starting to close up. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn't cried in weeks, less and less since he had run away from home. He wasn't about to do it now. He heard Dean run after him and walked faster. He didn't even know where to go. He hadn't known in a while. 

"Derek! DEREK, DAMN IT, STOP!" Dean shouted, getting a hold of his jacket. Derek felt his wolf struggle to be released, but he tried to hold it back, thinking about his sister still alive and fine, though a few states over. He thought about her eyes when she still used to smile, warm and bright. And about how they turned red in anger – no, despair, when he said she couldn’t understand ("Why can’t you just tell me what's going on, then?"). He thought about her fingers carding through his hair and telling him she loved him no matter what he thought he had done, the last time he had seen her. In the evening they went to bed and in the morning he was gone. 

Derek calmed down, though a huge sadness washed over him. He hadn't felt his sister's absence this much in weeks. He didn't struggle apart from emitting a small growl, when Dean turned him around, hands planted firmly on his shoulders, keeping him there.

"Dude," Dean muttered, looking straight into Derek's eyes. "The hell is wrong with you? C'mon, it's okay. We can go to another diner if you don't like this one. Just don't freak out on me again. Derek?"

Derek sniffled, ashamed of being seen in such a mental state by a man he wasn't even close to. He used the back of his hand to roughly rub his eyes and then firmly avoided Dean's gaze, while replying: "I need to go now. We don't know each other and we can't trust each other."

There was a short moment of silence, before Dean's gruff voice interrupted it. "That what you're afraid of? That you can't trust me?"

Derek hesitated, then nodded. "I can't trust you. I don't even know you. There is no reason for us to still hang around each other. You saved my ass, you were nice enough to give me a place to crash, but I can't see why you would keep me around, unless there's something else you want from me." He then raised his gaze and glared at Dean, hoping to be left alone. The hunter's hands slipped down to his upper arms, still holding him, but not restraining him anymore. He looked slightly helpless, before seeming to steel himself.

"Listen here, kid, and listen well," he started, then took a deep breath. "I totally understand your point of view. Seriously. I don't know you and I'm not sure I can trust you either. I only know that you’re a kid who almost got himself killed last night and who seems to be wandering around alone at the moment. Think about your sister, man. What would she feel like, if she knew what happened yesterday? Because it would fuckin’ kill me if I got to know my brother got hurt and almost died, and I wasn't there to protect him. I know for a fact, because I _have_ a younger brother. I don’t care who you are and where you come from. We all have our secrets, right? No need to judge. I just wanna make sure you're okay before I leave you on your own again" Dean concluded. He let go of Derek's arms and took a small step back, as if saying: You can or cannot believe me, you can leave or stay - your choice. Derek's heartbeat had quickened in hope, as every single word Dean had spoken had been true. He hadn't lied and he smelled concerned and caring. Maybe Dean _was_ different, after all? He _did_ say, he didn’t care who he was and where he came from. No. No, he needed to stay careful nonetheless.

"Okay. I believe you. And I will trust you, for now," Derek said. "But the question is: How can you know you can trust me?" He cocked an eyebrow, curious of what answer Dean came up with. Dean couldn't tell if he was lying after all. Neither could he smell emotions off him. 

"I don't? But I'm choosing to do so, for now. You seem to be an okay kid, if a little bit messed up in the head and that's just fine by me. Aren't we all, in a way? I'm on my own too, right now, so I wouldn't mind the company. But believe me, if you take advantage of my trust, you’re gonna be surprised. You’re gonna freakin’ regret it because I'll give you one hell of a beating. Now, c'mon, the burgers must be done by now."

Dean walked off, not waiting for Derek and neither checking if he was following him. He did so, after a few seconds of perplexity. He seriously couldn't get his head around this guy, but shook it off, before following the older male. How old was Dean anyway? If this was a thing, they needed to get to know each other at least partially better, Derek decided. Calling Dean a potential pack-mate was more than a little bit insulting, considering he was a hunter. But forgetting about it for a second made it easy to imagine: Having a pack again, having somebody looking after him, somebody to care about. He wanted that again, with somebody who didn't know about his past, who didn't smell the guilt off him. A human would be an advantage, from that point of view. But Dean was a hunter…

They sat down in their booth again, their meals already there and going cold. When the waitress walked by, she gave them a weird look and Dean winked, saying something about "having a smoke before meal-time". Strangely, he ignored her completely afterwards, giving Derek a cautious look, before grabbing his burger and taking a huge bite out of it. 

"Oh hell yeah," he groaned, mouth full. "This is awesome."

Derek grimaced (Dean was a little gross while eating), before digging into his own food. They didn't talk for the rest of lunch, but the atmosphere was surprisingly light and pleasant.

When their plates were empty, Dean leaned back against his seat, rubbing his belly and looking sleepy. Derek quietly pulled his wallet out of the hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket and looked at how much money he had left. He still had a couple bills of hundred, so he supposed he could pay this meal, as long as he made some more in the near future... He wasn’t looking forward to whatever he would have to do, to earn it.

When the waitress came to get the dishes, Derek grimly asked her for the bill and she nodded, faking a smile. He heard her talk to her coworkers as she reached the kitchen:

"Man there's this hottie at table 6, but I think he's gay because he's with another guy and the other guy looked really pissed when he started flirting with me... why are the hottest ones always gay?!"

Derek scoffed under his breath, half-amused, and then noticed Dean stare at him with a questioning frown. 

"What?" the hunter asked, before fishing his own wallet out of his backside pocket.

"I got this," Derek assured him, making a small gesture with his wallet. "You already paid the motel room."

Dean shrugged, pocketing his wallet. He got on his feet and left the table with a "gotta take a leak". Derek sat awkwardly in the booth alone, feeling strangely exposed, between the bright sunlight shining in from the window, the couple of customers sitting in the other booths around him and all the noises. He tried not to focus on any conversation because mostly it just gave him a headache hearing what people talked about. But then, he noticed Dean's voice: "Thanks, sweetheart. Well I guess I'll call you then, huh?"

When Dean finally came back, he didn't even sit back down, he just gestured with his hand and told Derek to "c'mon". Derek's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

"We didn't even pay yet. She didn't bring the bill."

"S'okay, I already took care of it," Dean replied, already starting to move to the entrance. Derek hurried to follow, casting a last glance at the waitress, before leaving (she was glaring at him with jealousy and it was kind of hilarious, but also a little mortifying).

"You didn't have to do that," he huffed, once he was at Dean's side. "I _have_ money."

"So where we headed now?" Dean abruptly changed topic. Derek could take a hint, so he just shrugged as they reached the Impala. He studied how the black paint reflected the sunlight and then stared at the ground. Deciding to willingly go along with Dean was probably on the top ten list of stupid things he had done in his life (sadly, he had done many of those... and not the "you're-going-to-laugh-about-it-someday" kind either). He was playing with fire and fire had already taken enough from him…

"Well... last night, when I was attacked, I left everything I own there," Derek muttered, thinking about the backpack with the few possessions he had. It had seemed rather irrelevant in a life or death situation. "I would like to get back there and get it... if you don't mind."

Dean leaned back against the side of his car, his eyes impossibly green as he gazed towards the sun. Derek felt his mouth go a little dry.

"It's an hour long drive. And what if your mafia friends are still there?" Dean reasoned, crossing his ankles. Derek snorted at the mafia part. So that was the theory Dean had created for himself? He could work with that, he decided. It kind of fit too, considering everything.

"I'm not saying we have to... well, it would be nice, since I have nothing on me otherwise. And if they're still there, we can take them out. Together, I mean. We'd probably be stronger." I could off them any time, if it weren't for the wolfsbane, Derek thought bitterly. 

"Hold your horses, Tony Montana. Nobody is taking out anyone. The last thing we need, is to get involved with the cops!"

"But what if they're there and want to kill us? And why do you even bother walking around with a gun, if you never use it? A man who doesn't intend to use one, doesn't keep one on him all the time, Dean."

Dean seemed surprised that Derek knew about the gun. If he wanted to keep it a secret that he carried weapons with him, he sure as hell shouldn't have left him alone in the motel room while he took a shower. Not that it mattered, since he could clearly smell the gun powder on him anyway.

"I told you, I'm a professional – sort of cop," the hunter replied grumpily. Despite everything, Derek found himself smirking lightly.

"Then why didn't you arrest those guys? Why don't you want to get involved with the cops?" 

"Because," Dean started, pushing himself off his car and getting into it instead. Derek quietly followed. "It's family business. And it's... confidential." The hunter said the last word with a slight mocking undertone, as if he found using a word like "confidential" amusing. Derek could have continued to push Dean's buttons until he either snapped or told him the truth (he didn't think he would, ever, being a supernatural creature, he knew how nobody talked about the supernatural with the “unknowing”), but he let it go. Provoking Dean too much would be a bad and suspicious move anyway. From Dean's point of view, they probably were just two lonely guys with two secret, messed up lives, keeping each other company for a while.

"Alright, we're going back there. But what about afterwards? Am I taking you back to your sister?" Dean asked, pulling out of the parking lot. Derek hastily twisted in his seat, glaring at him.

"What?! No, of course not!"

"And what exactly _are_ your plans? Keep wandering the streets forever? Blow dudes in back alleys to get by?" Dean inhaled sharply, sounding exasperated. "C'mon don't be a fuckin’ idiot. What about your parents? They must be worried sick."

"I don't have parents," Derek spat, before he could stop himself. There was a very short moment of tense silence, in which Dean started to smell sad again. But this time, it was pity... or maybe sympathy. Either way, Derek didn't like it. He didn't need any compassion from a hunter like Dean.

"Well... I guess that settles that matter then," he just said, surprisingly. Derek released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and slumped in his seat. He stared out of the window, feeling miserable and awkward. Dean wasn't supposed to know stuff like that about him.

"My mom died too, you know. It... It was a fire which killed her," Dean revealed, sounding like it was taking quite a lot of effort to tell him. Derek's blood froze at the mention of fire and he gaped at Dean, breathing heavily. Was this just the genuine truth, which would mean they had a thing in common, or was this some sort of... hint? Had Dean been playing him? Had he known who he was, all along?! Was this a trap?! 

Calm down, he told himself. Jesus, he had had that monologue at least twice that day. And even a talk with Dean about it, in which he hadn't lied about not wanting to do him any harm. So either Dean was the best liar in the universe, who could even trick a werewolf's hearing and smell sense, or... well - he had just tried to be really nice and share a piece of himself, as well. Not that Derek needed that. He didn't give a crap about Dean on a personal level. He was just using the situation to his advantage. Yeah, totally.

"That's... I'm sorry," Derek said, hoping he didn't sound too stiff, while saying it. Dean shrugged and then continued to drive in silence. Derek chose not to break it for the time being, and instead gazed outside the window, watching the landscape pass by. At some point, Dean switched on the audio system and Hetfield's voice filled the car (in a slightly shitty quality, but still). Derek liked Metallica. He closed his eyes, listening to Dean's even heartbeat and breathing pattern. Listening to the rhythm he was tapping against the driving wheel - the same as the song - and the way he was humming quietly along, probably thinking Derek couldn't hear it. He took a deep breath, smelling leather, gunpowder, blood and Dean's own musk. Derek leaned his head against the window, the sun warming his skin.

He could live with all of that, for the time-being. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol yeah, I'm taking quite some liberties with the supernatural aspects of this fanfic.
> 
> P.s. Does anybody even ship this pairing? 


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things never go as they should, do they. Maybe it's destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. Had a hard time fixing this chapter for some reason. I finished my exams this week and restarted working right after. Hope I'll have enough time to update next week... I really want to thank anyone who read, left kudos/comments and subscribed. It means a lot to me, honestly.

Dean parked the car in the parking lot of the "Bear House" and turned off the engine. He glanced over at the kid, about to shake him awake, but realized he had already woken up on his own, as he was stirring and slowly opening his eyes. 

"We're here," Dean said, opening the car door. "Better make it quick."

As soon as Derek was lucid enough to get out of the car too, they walked down the road to the small woods, both scrutinizing their surroundings with suspicion. 

"Do you remember were you left your stuff, at least?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure," Derek replied, angling his head upwards, as if scenting the air. Dean frowned, sniffing the air himself. He couldn't smell anything special, apart from the typical woodsy scents of nature…

Derek led the way, as they walked further into the woods. It was quiet – it didn't sound as if they had unwelcome company, but being careful definitely couldn’t hurt. 

"There, I found it!" Derek exclaimed, lifting up a black and grey backpack off the ground. 

"Good, c'mon let's get the fuck outta here," Dean urged, turning around. He didn't go far, as Derek emitted a choked-off grunt of pain, prompting him to twist right back around again.

"What? What's wrong?!" he asked, hurrying to the kid's side, once he saw him lying in a heap on the ground.

"Fuck… trap," was Derek's only response. He shifted a little – not without moaning and gritting his teeth in agony – until Dean could see the toothed coilspring foothold trap which had snapped around his calf and had its teeth ebbed inside the meat of it. He was bleeding steadily, the leg of the blue jeans he was wearing slowly turning dark red.

"Holy – oh, shit!"

Dean kneeled down beside him - luckily it was one of those small traps that were meant to only keep trapped and not seriously injure, but yeah – the teeth kinda ruined that part of the equation. The plus was this kind was rather easy to disarm. He pressed down on the springs left and right of the center pan until the jaws fell apart and tried not to feel sick while watching the teeth of the trap slowly slip out of Derek’s flesh. It must have been hurting like hell. As soon as Derek's leg was free, the kid pulled it out of the trap and enclosed his slightly shaking hands around it. 

"Shit. Shit, c’mon we need to go to the hospital. Holy shit. I can’t believe they just set up a trap in an area like this, where people probably walk their dog and could get hurt anytime. The fuck is wrong with them? And – Jesus – let’s just go to the hospital, I don’t know how much pressure it was under. It could’ve damaged the bone as well. ”

Derek seemed frozen as he continued to press his hands around the wound. He looked like he was more scared than in pain, what with the wide eyes and trembling lips. He was probably in shock, poor kid. First getting beaten the shit out of him and then a leg stuck in a trap… Dean got up and wound his arms around Derek’s torso from behind, right beneath his armpits. He tried to heave him up as carefully as possible, as not to joggle his injured leg too much. The hurt male wasn’t exactly being cooperative though, even weakly seeming to struggle against his hold, but Dean couldn’t blame him.

“C'mon we need to go to my car, I have a first aid kit and painkillers. It should do until we reach the hospital…” He pulled Derek's arm around his neck to support him and half carried, half dragged him along towards the main road. The kid finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and started to trash around for real.

"I – I think I need to go," Derek urgently squeaked, struggling to get out of Dean's supportive embrace. 

"What? Dude, not this again, not now." Dean grabbed Derek firmer and continued to pull him along. He wasn't leaving the kid in pain, just because he was a moody lunatic and probably had a hospital phobia or something. He didn’t like hospitals either, especially the part where he had to try and make the staff believe a fall down the stairs could do the same damage as being used as a punching bag by some pissed off vengeful spirit, but he knew when a couple stitches with dental floss were enough and when they weren’t. They probably weren’t this time… They reached the parking lot and Dean looked around, hoping they wouldn’t attract any attention. Luckily, there weren't many people who weren't either just driving through or too far away to really see what was going on. He hoped the people in the bar were too hammered to care, as well. He opened the door to the backseat of the Impala and maneuvered Derek to the edge of the seat, then bolted to the trunk of his car and grabbed the first aid box. 

"Alright. I’m just gonna cut them open. Your jeans are ruined anyway, so no hard feelings, right?" Dean muttered more to himself than to anyone else, as he started cutting along the denim with a pair of scissors. Derek didn't seem to care in the least about his jeans, but he _did_ look strangely resigned and grim. His jaw was so tense that its muscles were twitching. The wound must have been really hurting like a bitch. Dean carefully parted the edges where he had cut the denim open and inspected the wound. He stared hard, brow scrunching up in concentration... but there was barely anything there. Derek's pale leg was smeared with blood and his jeans were soaked in it, which was proof he had been hurt at some point. He even had a bruise where the trap had snapped around his leg. But... there were no teeth marks. And even if the teeth marks hadn’t been missing, the bruise was far too faint, for it to be considered normal. Surely a trap like that left behind more damage? Dean's gaze slowly rose to Derek's face, who was staring blankly back, though the tension in his arms and shoulders revealed he was ready to bolt, if necessary. Dean released his jeans and cautiously took one step back. He stealthily reached towards his lower back, where he was keeping his gun hidden.

"What the fuck are you?" he questioned, voice cold and firm.

Derek shakily exhaled... he looked nervous? He carefully climbed down from the seat of the Impala, wincing and grimacing in pain when his apparently-hurt foot connected with the ground. Dean slowly pulled out the gun from its holster. 

"Look, you either talk or this is ending badly," he pressured, glaring at the kid. Or whatever Derek was. Obviously, not an ordinary human being. Dean couldn't believe he had been literally hanging out with some sort of supernatural freak, even going as far as spending the night in the same room... had Derek maybe done something to him in his sleep? Had he been manipulating Dean's behavior all along? What the hell _was_ he? What healed so fast?

"Or we could leave it at this. Part our ways here. Nobody's going to get hurt and we will just forget about everything that’s happened..." Derek finally talked. He was backing away slowly, not blinking once as he kept his eyes fixed on Dean's, even though each step seemed to cause him pain, as he was limping. He looked exhausted, even a little sad. But he was also slightly hunched over, his arms tense at his sides, fingers curled like claws. Obviously ready to attack, if needed.

"Or you could tell me what the fuck you are and _maybe_ we could come to an agreement," Dean insisted. If Derek was a monster, the only “agreement” they could come to was that he needed to be eliminated, probably… but Derek didn't need to know that. Dean's glare faltered a little, thinking about killing this... kid. He thought about how young and hopeless he had looked the night before, talking about his sister. He thought about the pain and guilt he had seen in his eyes when he had mentioned his parents. He thought about how he had curled up against the door of his car, boyish face (otherwise always serious, always frowning) looking peaceful and innocent in his sleep. He couldn't - didn't want to believe Derek was some sort of supernatural freak, but nobody healed from an injury in a few minutes. But if Derek _was_ a monster, why had he done nothing hostile yet? He sure had had plenty of occasions. Or had Dean just not noticed he already had?

"I know you're a hunter," Derek answered instead. "I know the way you people think. Even if we came 'to an agreement' as you so sweetly call it, it would end with me biting dust. So I suggest we really do leave it at this. And if you even think about pointing that gun at me, I'm going to rip your throat out. With my teeth." To emphasize what he had just said, Derek snarled, revealing a set of rather sharp and inhuman-looking teeth. His eyes flashed bright blue for a second and Dean understood: A freaking werewolf. But how could he control his shifts deliberately like that? The only werewolf he and his dad had hunted had turned on a full moon night and he had been completely out of control, barely recognizing his surroundings. Derek was obviously aware of everything happening, though. He stated out loud: "You're a werewolf." 

Derek was putting more and more distance between them, still watching his every move. With that crazed look on his face and his hands covered in (his own) blood, it was easy to recognize him as a predator. Yes, he was a predator, but he looked like a cornered one. Like he knew he could overpower Dean, but didn't want to resort to it.

Dean replaced the gun in its holster and then slowly brought his hands up, showing his bare palms. He relaxed his stance and noticed Derek doing the same, though he still seemed wary.

"How about this: You tell me all the freakin’ truth about everything and we look how to continue from there on?"

Derek hesitated – speechless? – then nodded. That’s how they ended up getting into the "Bear House" (and wasn't this starting to be all homely?) and Dean ordered drinks for them both, while Derek went into the small local bathroom to clean himself up and change his clothes. He couldn't really walk around with cut open pants and looking as if he had come out of a splatter movie, after all. Dean went after him, cleaning mostly his hands, before returning to their place, where the kid was sipping the coke he had ordered for him. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and about to crush the glass in his hand. Dean didn't feel much better, as he sat down beside him at the small table they had chosen (somewhere, were people wouldn't hear their ramblings about werewolves).

"Alright, Derek," Dean blinked his eyes. "That even your real name?"

"Yes," was the dry answer.

"Okay, cool. How old are you, what are you doing out here alone, who were those guys and what happened to your family," Dean listed up everything he wanted to know, before adding: "And what kinda werewolf are you exactly? Why can you shift whenever? Are you a skin walker? Why did you stay if you knew I was a hunter? Why didn't you attack me?"

There was a short moment of silence, before Derek muttered a "wow", scrunching up his face. Well, okay. Maybe he had let his enthusiasm get the better of him, but Dean really needed to know. 

"First of all, I'm 16," Derek replied. "What about you?"

"How does any information about me matter in this context?” asked Dean, cocking an eyebrow.

"Is this a conversation or a fucking interrogation?"

"Well, I usually don't converse with freakin’ _monsters_." As soon as he had said it, Dean regretted it as Derek got up with the intention to leave. "Okay, okay, sorry. Touchy. I was just saying, no offense."

Derek sighed deeply, but sat back down. He rubbed the pad of his index finger along the rim of his glass of coke and didn't raise his gaze. Dean took a sip of his beer and decided they had all the freaking time in the world. After a while the werewolf seemed to have collected himself enough to actually talk. His eyes rose, meeting Dean's halfway and he looked afraid.

"Do you know... the Argents?" he softly asked.

"You mean, like, the hunters?" inquired Dean. He had heard of them, they seemed to be specialized in werewolf hunting though, which was weird considering there weren't that many werewolves around. In his life, they had had a case of one only once, after all. 

"Yeah... the hunters. The Argent family. Those guys, who attacked me yesterday, were part of them," Derek explained. "And before you ask - no, I haven't done anything to deserve being hunted! I've never hurt an innocent before."

"Hard to believe, I mean why else would they be after you? I've heard of the Argents and as far as I know, they don't even hunt creatures, as long as they are peaceful. They have this codex thingy."

"So you... you're not connected to them or anything, right?"

"No? But they made themselves known, what with being considered the best when it comes to werewolves," Dean took another sip of his beer, studying Derek as he became more and more fidgety. "Well, what's up with that?" 

It seemed to take forever, for the kid to finally continue. They sat quietly at the table for at least 2 minutes and Dean was starting to get impatient. But he didn't pressure Derek, as he seemed to have a really hard time saying what he wanted to say.

"A... about a year ago, I met a girl," he started. "She was an Argent. Older than me by a few years. She seemed interested in me so... I mean, she was really hot and interesting and funny. I just... liked her. A lot. She knew I was a werewolf and I knew she was a hunter, but I thought it didn’t matter because she seemed to be into me, too. She didn't mind what came along with me being a werewolf, as long as I didn’t hurt anybody... she seemed really open minded."

Dean listened quietly, watching how various expressions of pure misery flickered over Derek's face. He could already see where this was going.

"Well I... I kind of told her everything about me. And my family... My family was huge. We were a pack mostly of werewolves, but there were also a few humans among us. We were a happy and peaceful family, had never bothered anyone-"

"Uhm, excuse me, but did you just say a pack? And then, in the same sentence - a pack of werewolves _and_ humans?" Dean asked disbelieving. First the fact that Derek was aware he was a werewolf and could shift whenever, showing incredible control over his wolf side. And now packs? What was next? Freaking Twilight? Should he expect sparkly vampires next?

"Werewolves aren't the way you think they are. We can be civilized too," Derek replied, angrily. "Not all of us are the bloodthirsty creatures you hunters make us out to be."

"Well, last time I met a werewolf, he seemed pretty bloodthirsty to me, considering he tried to eat my dad's heart," Dean muttered with scorn.

"He probably was feral. He didn't have a pack, was all alone. He didn't have control over his wolf anymore, maybe never learned how to in the first place. Maybe he had been freshly turned. Or maybe he had become mad after being without a pack for too long..."

"So basically what you're saying is that there are lots of werewolves out there and we don't even notice?!"

"Pretty much. The ones you hunt are probably just the feral bitten omegas. That's okay, because they are a danger to everybody, even other werewolves. And they probably would want to be put out of their misery in the first place."

"Omega?"

"Yeah. A pack is made of an alpha and a few betas. If a werewolf has no pack, he's called an omega."

"Okaaay..." Dean processed all the information he had just gotten. It was like a parallel universe. Everything he had believed was on rocky ground now. What if there were more supernatural creatures out there, living peacefully among humans? Acting like human beings themselves? And how long could such a facade really last? If his father and his life as a hunter had taught him anything, it was that most of the time a freak remained always a freak, no matter how peaceful they initially acted. But on the other hand... Derek was so... innocent. He was just a kid, in Dean's eyes. A kid with major issues, but he didn’t' scream "werewolf!" in any way, apart from the flashy eyes, fangs and healing capabilities.

"What happened with that Argent girl?" Dean asked, getting back to the actual topic. Derek visibly tensed up once more, glancing down at the table.

"Well... she used me, to get to my family. She trapped my family in our house and... And burnt it down. They all died. Apart from my sister, my uncle – who is in a catatonic state though – and me, obviously..."

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He watched as Derek started shaking, visibly fighting off tears and anger. 

"They died because of me. I killed them all." At that, a few tears spilled out of the kid's eyes. Dean looked away. He hated seeing people cry. He wasn’t very good in comforting them and he wished they didn’t have to in the first place. He could definitely sympathize with Derek. Family was everything to him and he didn't want to imagine what it would be like to lose so many members of it at once. The loss of his mother almost twenty years ago and the departure of Sammy had been painful enough already.

"It's... it's not your fault. You couldn't know she was a psychotic bitch," Dean offered, awkwardly. 

"Yes, I could have," Derek replied, wheezing. "She was an Argent. A hunter. I should have known and instead I willingly handed over my family to her. It's entirely my fault!" The kid was sobbing at that point and the people sitting nearby were looking at Dean as if he had personally offended them. They probably didn't make a great scenario, what with him being a few years older and the kid crying, both sitting at the same side of the table.

"C'mon, don't be like that. If what you told me is true, then anyone could’ve fallen for that. It's not your fault. Also, the Argents shouldn't have a codex, if they don't follow it afterwards."

Derek continued to sob quietly for a while, using the sleeve of his sweater to dry his tears. He seemed to be embarrassed about crying, but also like he just couldn't help himself. Which Dean could understand. If all of this had happened only a year ago, the wound was still fresh, no wonder it still freaking hurt. Not to mention the obvious guilt-issues. 

"Why did you run away from your sister? It doesn't make any sense," Dean asked, after a while of quiet sobs and sniffs. 

"She doesn't know," Derek weakly replied. "I couldn't live with this burden anymore, but I also don't want to lose her by telling her the truth."

Everything made sense now, at last. Who Derek was, what had happened to him and why he was alone. Dean couldn't even be put off by him being a werewolf anymore. Unless Derek was the best actor in the world, Dean doubted he was lying. And if what he had told him was the truth, he had been the victim and not the culprit. He had been used, hurt and his whole world had been torn apart. Mixing in the supernatural, this was exactly the kind of stuff Dean liked to take care of. But it was a little weird seeing it from the other side.

"C'mon. How old did you say you were? 16? I started sooner than that. Want a beer?" he asked, trying to lighten up the mood. 

"Alcohol doesn't work on me," Derek answered grimly. Well, that sucked. "Well, maybe if I drink enough of it. I dunno. Never bothered too much." 

Dean hesitated, before shifting closer to the kid with his chair. He looked to the other customers, who had by then stopped watching, luckily, though some of them still cast some glances in their direction. He carefully placed a hand on Derek's shoulder, squeezing it gently. Derek raised his bloodshot eyes, meeting Dean's gaze. Dean nodded understandingly and left his hand there.

"I think we should toast to an alliance between you and me. I thought you needed somebody to watch your back before, but I know you do now. I’m gonna stick around for a while.”

"So, you won't try killing me in my sleep?" Derek joked bitterly, but his cheeks flushed a little. 

"Not unless you try to rip out my throat with your teeth. Or what was it again?"

Derek’s lips twitched, shaping into a small smile. Dean flashed his best grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, btw I wrote this before "Bloodlines" and "Sharp Teeth". So it's totally ALL pulled out of my ass. I hope it still makes sense somehow the way I merged these two universes. I also hope you're not disappointed Dean found out so soon, but this story isn't really about Derek hiding his werewolf side. Hey, are there any native speakers reading this fic? I'd really be interested in how bad my English is. Until next time, guys :)


	4. Touch and smell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek and Dean bond over their newly established alliance. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER RUINED MY WEEK. I hated it so much that I had to rewrite complete parts of it. Now I hate it 40% less, but I definitely still hate it a lot. xD I hope it isn't as bad as it feels to me. 
> 
> Thank you so much for subscribing, leaving behind kudos and sweet comments. I'm always happy to read feedback, no matter what kind. :)
> 
> ***
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Lots of alcohol...

After a dozen shots of tequila and a couple of beers in between, Derek actually _felt_ the effects of the alcohol. His vision had turned blurry, his head was spinning and his face felt hot as hell. He supposed a human being would be wasted after consuming the same amount he had. Or maybe unconscious. Yes, probably unconscious and on the way to the hospital. Derek felt only tipsy though. Well, it was better than nothing. He had always wondered why his school mates made such a big deal out of meeting in the woods in secret and drinking. He could admit it was an interesting experience, especially since he felt almost worry-free for once. Or maybe he just felt that way because he had been able to share his terrible secret with someone.

Dean, who had drunk along with him (though way less of course), seemed to be slightly tipsy too, as he had noticeably loosened up, as well. They were sitting even closer than before, knees bumping into each other under the table now and then, arms constantly brushing, and they were chatting a little about everything and a little about nothing at all. It was easy, now that the cat was out of the bag. Ever since he had broken out in tears like a pussy, Dean had been giving him these little glances and touches – a gentle squeeze of his shoulder or a warm palm cupping the back of his neck. At one point, right after they had chugged down a shot together, his hand had even lingered on the latter, and he had (probably without even realizing it) started to rub his thumb over the short, soft hair there. It was definitely awkward. Or it would have been in a normal situation, among two normal guys. Dean was obviously trying to comfort him in his own speechless way. And while Derek didn’t want to be treated like he was a delicate little flower, he couldn’t help but appreciate a little portion of touch that wasn’t meant to be hurtful in any way. He had almost forgotten what it felt like…

Being a werewolf, he was actually a rather tactile person on principle, simply for the fact werewolves interacted a lot by touch. Pack mates touched all the time for many different reasons – for example to scent mark, show affection or comfort each other. He and Laura had spent the first couple days after the fire sleeping curled up to each other like pups. Afterwards, he had started to distance himself from her, avoiding any kind of closeness. Once he had run away from her, he didn’t indulge that side of himself _at all_ anymore.

And now, there was Dean…

An image of beautiful, deadly Kate briefly flashed through his mind, with her bright smile and her persistent hands. She was always whispering sweet things to him, always touching him everywhere, leaving her scent all over him, even before they had gotten intimate for the first time. Seducing his wolf side by making him believe they could be pack – or maybe even mates. Getting the human side of him to feel like he was special, somebody worthy of being desired and loved, despite him being a werewolf and her, a hunter.

As Derek’s heartbeat and breathing pattern started to quicken, he forcefully suppressed the rising anxiety and made himself calm down again instead. Dean wasn't Kate. Dean didn't smell of lies and hostility like Kate did, to the point he didn't even acknowledge it anymore after a while, deciding it was just her natural scent. Being madly in love with her had made it easy to ignore any clue.

Dean wasn’t making him feel the way he was feeling on purpose. He wasn’t manipulating him. He wasn’t seducing him. He was simply trying to comfort him.

It came to Derek as a slight shock, when he realized how close he felt to Dean in that instant. Almost like… almost like he would feel with a pack mate indeed. The man knew he was a werewolf, knew what he had done in the past and had seen him at his worst already. And yet here they were. No blood had been spilled (at least not between them…) and despite everything, they were still sticking around each other. Derek could honestly say he had never gotten that close to a person in such a short time, ever. He wondered if it was the same for the hunter or if he had already experienced something like that before. Did he often rescue and take under his wing random kids in need? Did he often stay around when he saved people on hunts, just to make sure they didn’t get in any trouble again? Did he often sit in bars and try to comfort almost complete strangers by ordering them drinks and giving them careful little touches?

He sure as hell had never done any of that for a werewolf. Even excluding that last bit, he hoped Dean didn’t do that kind of things often. Derek needed to know this whole situation was just as exceptional to the hunter as it was to him. He wanted to believe this was a special case for the both of them.

"So, are you going to tell me how old you are or what?" Derek asked, meeting Dean's sleepy gaze with his own slightly unfocused one, trying to distract himself from all his confusing thoughts.

"I'm 22" answered Dean, taking a sip from his beer. Derek couldn't help but tense up a little. He had known Dean was older of course, but he hadn't really put much thought into _how much_ older he was. The… the same age as Kate actually.

The hunter must have seen a change in his posture (was he that easy to read?), as he was quick to reassure: "Don’t worry. You’re like the second little bother I never had. You even make almost the same bitch faces as Sammy actually. He's 18, you know? Just two years older than you. Left as soon as he came of age."

Derek appreciated both the attempt at reassurance and the disclosure of personal information. Taking the bait, he asked: "Where did he go? And where’s your dad?” Dean started giving off that smell of sadness once again. The werewolf was starting to really dislike it.

"Sammy went to college. Wants to become a lawyer. My dad needed some time to handle the freakin’ drama that came with it, so we parted ways for a while," Dean weakly replied. Derek found himself wondering what the hunter’s younger brother was like. What were _his_ reasons to leave his family behind like that? He wondered if they would get along if they ever met, if he was like his brother or completely different. And then, he was thinking about how Laura would feel about Dean. Would she like him? Would she hate him?

How would she feel if she knew the hunters who killed their family, did so, because of her own brother? How would she feel if she knew, he was hanging around a hunter again?

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t there anymore, after all.

"So you're all alone, too.”

Dean offered a little smile. "Not anymore, no," he countered, casting a short, almost bashful glance in Derek’s direction. The werewolf's heart skipped a beat and he lowered his eyes, as well. They were silent for a while, nursing their respective beers. Derek thought about the things he had revealed to the hunter and what he himself knew about him in contrast. It wasn't particularly much. Once he found the courage, the younger male asked: "How did your mother really die?"

The hunter seemed to freeze for a second, before slowly relaxing again. His mother seemed to be a touchy subject. "I told you already. In a fire."

"Yeah, but was it an accident?"

"No..." Dean answered. "It was... it was a demon. We’ve been looking for years, but we can't seem to find it anywhere. There are days… sometimes I feel like the need for retribution it is the only reason dad gets up in the morning. I guess that's another reason why Sammy left. He wanted a normal life. Not only a life away from the supernatural, but also a life which doesn't revolve around revenge."

Derek took it all in, creating himself an image of Dean’s family and their life as hunters, driven by the death of a wife/mother. He could see why Sammy would leave, now. It didn’t sound like a particularly fulfilling existence.

"I didn't know demons were real," he remarked, feeling a little ridiculous. He was a werewolf for God’s sake. The thing was, he had never met any other supernatural creatures apart from other werewolves, and that one single time a werefox, who had been quick to leave again once she realized she had stumbled into werewolf territory. They used to have a giant library with all kinds of books, some of them about folklore and mythology. But with that kind of books you never know how much of it is true and how much isn’t.

Dean offered him a little grin. "I bet there are many things you didn’t know truly exist."

"Like?"

"Well, like... ghosts, wendigos, pagan gods, ninja turtles."

"Ninja turtles are real?" Derek faked awe, and the hunter chuckled. Even Derek cracked a small smile. Dean's hand, which had been either enclosed around his mug of beer or tapping a lazy rhythm against the table surface for a rather long time now, curled into a fist and came up to bump against Derek's shoulder. Then it lingered there, grabbing him and comradely shaking him a little. The werewolf's already heavy-lidded eyes fluttered closed for a second, his face feeling even hotter than before. Then Dean released him.

"Do you want your life to be only about revenge?” the werewolf asked, then explained: “Because I tried to think like that for a while, but I just hope I will never meet her again. Ever."

"I dunno... there's not much else I could be doing. Hunting things, saving people… it’s the family business. It’s the only life I've ever known. And my dad needs me by his side when we find who killed my mom."

Derek nodded understandingly. He watched as Dean took one last sip of his beverage, emptying it in the process, and did the same.

"What'd you say, should we get going, have something to eat first, and then drive a couple of hours until we find a decent place to crash? This time, one that doesn't smell of cat piss, preferably," the hunter offered, already fishing his wallet out of his backside pocket.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan,” the younger male agreed.

They left the bar, Dean once again tricking him into not paying a single cent of the huge bill they had gotten thanks to his overenthusiasm in the drinking department. It left him feeling embarrassed and guilty about having drunk so much. At that point, the hunter confessed that he was paying with somebody else’s credit card anyway. Derek didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse, but considering he hadn’t always been acquiring his money in completely legal ways either, he decided he wasn’t going to argue anymore.

Since Dean was still too tipsy to drive, they walked around until they found a little Italian restaurant nearby, where they ate enough pizza to feed a small army. Once they had both sobered up, they (true to Dean's words) proceeded to drive for a couple hours. It was already late, by the time the older male decided he needed a break and stopped at a motel.

They took a single room with two twins again, just like the night before (but this time Derek actually agreed) and made themselves comfortable in it. At least, he had his stuff now, so the werewolf closed himself up in the bathroom, brushed his teeth thoroughly, shaved himself (though there wasn't very much to shave yet) and then took a shower, finally being able to use his non-perfumed products. He didn't mind a little of cologne or deodorant, he just hated the mix up different products created, when people used too many of them. Also, it made it kind of impossible to sense somebody's natural smell. And considering how much their scent told about a person, no werewolf liked being deprived of that possibility.

Once he was done with cleaning himself up, he stepped out of the shower and put on some briefs, a pair of black sweat pants and a simple dark green t-shirt. When he left the bathroom, Dean was lying on his bed watching TV, his hands resting on his belly and his eyelids drooping with sleepiness. Derek walked quietly past him and stuffed his kit and clothes back into his backpack, before climbing onto his bed. He grimaced, as his leg was still a little achy from the severe injury his body had had to endure. His wounds healed quickly, but when they were as bad as that one had been, the phantom pain lingered for quite a while. In the morning it would be gone for sure, though. He glanced over at Dean, before fixing his gaze on the TV. He was watching some crappy amateurish-looking movie about the Wild West.

"See this shit right here? Someday I wanna wear a hat like that. And a poncho too, of course. Would be awesome,” the hunter drowsily slurred, nodding towards the protagonist of the movie displayed on the screen.

"I don't think they really wore those," retorted Derek, slightly amused.

"Of course they did. Clint Eastwood wore one. Why else would they wear those in movies?"

"Because they're shitty movies and not exactly historically accurate?"

Dean huffed, muttered something about “the Dollars Trilogy being a classic and Derek being too young to appreciate the good things in life”, but he was clearly amused, as well.

"Aren't you going to take a shower?" Derek asked, tugging at a loose strand attached to his sheets. He gazed around. At least this motel room was definitely better than the one of the night before, having a rather simple and modern interior. It was actually clean too, though to the werewolf it smelled disgusting nonetheless from all the people that had been there before them.

"Nuh-uh, I'm freakin’ tired," Dean childishly replied. "I'll just shower tomorrow morning." He then proceeded to slip off his boots with the tip of his toes and kick them off. And just like that, he curled onto his side, ready to get a couple hours of sleep. Derek stared at him. Took in the long eyelashes resting gently against his freckled cheeks. Took in the pouty lips. Lowered his gaze to the ground. He still couldn't completely grasp the way the day had played out. Just that morning he had been so sure Dean wasn't going to find out about him being a werewolf – or at least not anytime soon. And then he had stepped into that stupid trap, obviously a gift left behind by the Argents to taunt him even in their absence. It was placed perfectly by his backpack, after all.

Life sure kept screwing him over. But at least, this time, it had turned for the better. Telling Dean everything about Kate, the fire… He felt like a huge burden had been taken from him. He felt much lighter, more carefree... and almost kind of... happy.

"Dean?" Derek inquired softly, afraid the other male had already fallen asleep. He heard a small affirmative grunt and slowly placed his feet back on the floor.

"Can... can I try something?"

"What?" came Dean's slightly muffled voice and the hunter cracked an eye open.

"It's a werewolf thing... don't freak out," Derek warned, trying to suppress the embarrassment that came with the thought of what he was about to do.

"I really don't like the sound of that," was Dean's response, but his heartbeat was still slow and steady, so he wasn't _really_ worried. Good.

"I promise I won't hurt you."

Derek got off the bed and walked over to Dean's instead, climbing on top of it beside him.

"The fuck are you doing?" protested Dean, his heart rate finally picking slightly up, as he twisted around to turn on his back.

“Shhh, stay calm.”

Derek laid an arm across the hunter’s chest and pinned him to the bed. Before the older male could start struggling, the younger one buried his nose in the side of his neck. He heard Dean gasp and felt him tense up, but ignored it in favor of taking in his scent, discovering aspects of it he would never have, otherwise.

"What the..."

Dean shifted a little, his hands coming up to grab Derek's arms and try to push him off. Derek might have been a head shorter and a couple dozen pounds lighter, but he was stronger than him and used it to his advantage. He nuzzled his face against the underside of the hunter’s jaw, making sure to pick up as much of Dean’s scent and leave behind as much of his own as he could.

When he finally moved away, Dean had stopped struggling and was slightly flustered instead.

"What the fuck was that?" he shakily asked. Derek felt his cheeks heat up and he shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. Returning to his own bed he replied: "Just… scent stuff. Werewolves do this kind of thing to get to know each other better."

"Well, next time, buy me a fuckin’ drink first, at least," replied Dean, disguising his obvious embarrassment as irritation. He was blushing, Derek noticed. He couldn't help but snicker.

"I will, if you’ll let me."

"Whatever," muttered the hunter, turning around once more, this time with his back to Derek. He pulled the sheets over himself, not even bothering to take his pants off. Derek turned off the light and the TV and curled around his pillow, mashing his nose against his armpit in the hope of keeping off all the foreign smells clinging to the linen. From the other side of the room, Dean's heart was still beating a little faster than usual and Derek replayed the whole day in his head to the sound of it, over and over and over again, getting stuck on little details like how the corner of Dean's eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled widely, or how he absently licked his bottom lip each time he was too focused on something to notice his own actions. He hadn't even actively considered those things during the day, but now they were all there, catalogued in his brain.

 _I like him_ , his wolf side was telling him. _We should become pack._

 _I don’t know_ , Derek replied, closing his eyes. Dean sure smelled good though. Especially with his own scent over him. _I guess so_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I'll try to update again in a week or two. :) Oh, and happy fourth of July, I guess!


	5. Werewolf psychology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Dean get into a sticky situation. Now they have to figure out a way to make it through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry it took me so long to update, been kinda busy. This chapter was longer than I remembered. Longest chapter so far actually, so I hope that makes up for the long wait. As usual, I wanna thank everyone, who is still following me through this. And I wanna say hello and thank you to everybody who has recently joined the journey. :) I know I'm not very good at this, so it means a lot anyone is interested at all.  
> Btw, this chapter contains a lot of humor. After all the drama, a little bit of fun is needed. Beware tho, as my humor sucks. xD Anyway, good read.

Dean's alarm went off and he woke up with a start, then almost fell out of bed during the frantic attempt to turn it off. He heard a protesting grunt come from the bed beside his own and gazed over at Derek, while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The werewolf just pulled the blanket over his head and rolled up into a small ball underneath it.

"What’s up, wolfy? Having a hangover?" teased Dean, his voice slightly scratchy from alcohol consumption and too little sleep.

"Not sure I can have one... but I _do_ kind of feel like crap," came Derek's muffled reply.

"A couple of drinks to fall asleep at night, between two to five hours of rest, a crick in the back from a really shitty mattress… welcome to my life, kiddo. You get used to it after a while. Now c'mon, gotta get up – we need to have checked out before ten o'clock."

Derek grumbled, but unwrapped himself from his cocoon of blankets and slowly climbed out of bed, crawling over to his backpack. Dean slipped out of bed, as well, and trudged to the bathroom, feeling the strong urge to take a shower after having skipped one the evening before and having slept fully clothed. He took a leak, quickly showered and then got back into the room with only a towel wrapped around his hips to stow away his dirty clothes and put some fresh ones on. Derek was sitting on his bed, fully dressed by then, with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands dangling in between them. He tiredly looked up at Dean and seemed a little hesitant as he asked: "So what's the plan exactly? What are we gonna do now?"

Dean crouched down beside his bed, where he had thrown his meager belongings. He’d have to stop at a laundromat soon, he realized, as he went through his duffel. Most of his stuff was filthy. He thought about the last couple of days and could admit he had let himself go quite a bit after everyone had left him. He hoped Sam was taking better care of himself, there, at Stanford. (Oh, who was he kidding, of course his baby brother was, that little nerd…)

He quickly put on some more or less clean clothes and then turned around, seeking Derek's gaze, who immediately averted his eyes though, shifting a little uncomfortably. He looked kinda flustered, Dean noted. Huh, okay.

"I dunno. We could do it my way – you know, hunt," Dean proposed, sitting down on his bed, mirroring Derek. "I know what's up now and why you don’t wanna, but I still believe we should get you back to your sister soon. Or at least let her know you’re okay. If you two are all each other have left, you should stick together. Family should always stick together."

Derek softly snorted and cynically replied: "Funny you’d say that, considering it didn't work out so well in your case either."

The hunter, a little taken aback by the (sadly true) statement, was speechless for a few seconds, then firmly replied: "Well, my case is another case than yours. At least we're all adults and can take care of ourselves. You're only sixteen, for God's sake. You still need your family. Just get ready, I'm gonna go put my stuff in the car and grab something for breakfast in the meantime."

He pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his duffel bag and left the room. Outside, the sun was already high in the sky and it was a warm and clear day. Dean tried not to think about Derek's words, as they just reminded him that he had indeed failed to keep his family from falling apart, and angrily threw his jacket and bag into the trunk of the Impala. He guessed the kid was right though. He couldn't lecture him about something he himself knew didn't always work out the way one wished. Sometimes he thought he should have run, too, gone with Sam. His brother sure had asked him enough times. But then he remembered that Sam probably wasn't going to die if somebody wasn't watching his back in college. His dad though... he had a responsibility towards his old man. Too bad he wasn’t fulfilling that job either at the moment. He braced his arm against the still open trunk and leaned his brow against his arm, shakily breathing out. He should call his dad soon, make sure he was okay. As soon as he had composed himself, he shut his car and then proceeded to buy something in the cafè next to their motel. He returned to their room after more or less half an hour. He immediately noticed, that the door was wide open, which made his heart skip a beat. What the…? As he entered it, Derek was nowhere to been seen, though his backpack was lying unpacked on his bed. It meant the kid probably hadn’t run away, but it implied even worse things. Dean placed the food on the small table on the opposite side of the beds and took a look around again. The bathroom was empty too. Anxiety continued to grow and he went back outside, eyes flickering hastily back and forth, his increased pulse throbbing in his ears.

"Derek?" he voiced, insecure. He heard a quiet shush and huge relief washed over him at the sight of the kid crouching behind a neatly trimmed hedge. Then he actually considered the scenario in front of him.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" he asked in a low tone, and then hesitantly joined Derek in his hiding place.

"It’s the Argents, they’re here. I can smell them. They somehow tracked us down, maybe when we went back to get my stuff," Derek explained, looking very nervous.

"Where are they?" Dean took a peak from behind the hedge, but all he could see was a mother with her two kids walking down the street and an older man sitting on a bench with a small dog on his lap. Derek joined him.

"I’m pretty sure that black truck over there is theirs," he pointed at said car. “Not sure if they’re inside of it though.” They both sunk back to a crouching position and turned around to face each other better. Derek’s gaze fell to the ground he and seemed to be contemplating if or how to say something. When he raised his eyes again, they met the hunter’s right away and he looked like he had steeled himself.

"They have a weapon which can kill me. That's why they managed to overpower me so easily when you found me, even though there were only two of them. If we could somehow get rid of their guns I could take care of them."

"You mean they have silver bullets?" Dean asked, confused.

"No, I mean they have something much worse. I was born a werewolf, silver doesn't really kill me, just hurts like fucking hell," explained Derek, shifting a little and bracing himself against the ground, cocking his head as if he was smelling or hearing something interesting. Dean came back to what Derek had said: "You can't just kill them, they’re humans!"

"Then what the hell do you suggest?! They've been following me around for ages, Dean! I can't keep running away forever and hope no other occasion arises, where I find myself pinned to the ground with a fucking gun pointed at my head!" Derek's eyes flashed blue, as he got more and more worked up and there was the barest hint of fangs each time his mouth opened to produce words. Despite this, and his instinct telling him to back off, Dean took a hold of Derek's biceps, feeling the lean muscles twitch underneath the cotton of the kid's grey henley.

"Jesus, calm down, your wolfy side is showing," he hissed, shifting closer to the other male until their legs interlocked. "I'm here now, remember? We're gonna deal with them together. I'm gonna take care of them and you're gonna be okay, yeah?"

They wordlessly stared at each other for a few seconds, Derek seeming to be looking for something in Dean's eyes as his gaze kept flittering back and forth between each of them. It made the hunter slightly nervous.

"Well, at least you really believe it," was what the werewolf said, in the end.

"What's that even supposed to mean?" inquired Dean with a grimace, releasing the younger male. The kid offered Dean a malicious grin, before replying: "I can hear your heartbeat. And I can smell most of your emotions. It makes it possible for me to tell if you're lying."

"Son of a bitch, are you serious?!"

Dean wanted to feel miserable about the newly gained knowledge and consider what never being able to successfully serve up a lie actually meant, but he was alerted by the werewolf emitting a small growl. Some seconds later it was clear what was going on, as the noise of steps approached their hiding place. Dean reached for his gun, unholstered it, while Derek ducked lower next to him, ready to pounce.

"Dean Winchester. Of all the hunters allying themselves to a werewolf, I would have expected a Winchester the least," a man said with a strange European accent, and Dean felt uncomfortable at the realization that the dude was standing right on the other side of the hedge.

"Your father would be so disappointed. He is so intent on wiping out anything remotely supernatural that he would probably not even think twice about wiping you right out with it, if he knew you chose to side up with a mutt."

Dean felt rage well up in his gut, but didn't allow it to take control over him. He knew his family had made a name for itself among hunters, as his father had spent two decades taking care of various creatures all over the states, once they were old enough, dragging him and Sam along on hunts as well. So he wasn't particularly shocked about this dude knowing his name. But if this douchebag thought he knew anything about him and his family, he was greatly mistaken.

"I am not here for a fight, obviously. It would be foolish, exposed like this. But I came here to make you a proposal,” the man listed down an address, coordinates. Dean tried to memorize it all, despite not being sure what it meant yet. “We will be waiting for you there tonight at eleven o’clock. Hand over the werewolf and we are just going to let this little incident slide without further altercations. There is going to be no grudge about the fact you attacked two of my men for the sake of a rabious dog," the Argent made a pause, the sound of his feet scuffling on the ground so close to where they were crouching making Dean's hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Or you can keep protecting him and we will have to proceed in a more... let us say, less friendly manner."

A vicious growl came from Derek’s side in response and Dean had to give him a glare and a little shove to shut him up. The man on the other side just chuckled, having probably perceived the situation beyond the hedge, and slowly walked away.

"Choose wisely, Dean Winchester. Tonight, eleven o'clock at the warehouse. And do not try to run away, because we are watching... and there are snipers among us."

"God, are they for fuckin’ real?" Dean couldn't help but mutter, reholstering his gun, as soon as the footsteps had faded in the distance. He glanced over at Derek, who was still fidgety and twitchy beside him. "Would you freakin’ calm down already, Larry Talbot?"

The werewolf just glared at him and then visibly forced himself to relaxed, his facial features softening.

"C'mon, we need to get back inside. I'm pretty sure they aren't stupid enough to try anything in public, but I'm still not particularly comfortable walking around with those freaks on the loose. I'll just go and pay for another day real quickly and then, we'll have to come up with a really good plan if we wanna make it out of this in one piece," said Dean, getting to his feet and already heading towards the check-in.

“Dean, wait…” Derek’s soft voice stopped him. The hunter turned around, seeing how the kid was just standing there, with his head slightly lowered and his hands playing with the hem of his shirt. Dean slowly walked back to him. “I’m sorry about before. That thing I said about your family. I didn’t mean to make you… sad,” he apologized and it was so unexpected, especially after the whole Argent thing, that it took the older male a moment to process what Derek was even apologizing for.

“It’s… it’s okay, it didn’t make me sad. We have bigger fish to fry anyway. Don’t worry,” he replied, then remembered Derek had probably “smelled it” or something. Well, fuck. He felt his face heat up and just gently pushed the werewolf towards their room, who, luckily, went without any resistance. Dean then walked in the opposite direction, to do as he had said and rent their room for another day. Once he was done (and had overcome the embarrassment of having Derek apologize to him over “making him sad” – how fucking lame did that sound), he returned to their motel room where he found the kid sitting on his bed and nibbling on one of the dozen small donuts Dean had bought just a while ago, before everything had gone to shit.

"Left me any of those?" asked Dean, locking up the door behind him and pulling the curtains together. He doubted the room was a real obstacle for the Argents, if they planned to do something, but he liked to at least _pretend_ they had some sort of privacy, while trying to figure out a way out of this mess.

Derek wordlessly held out the box to Dean which still contained most of the donuts. The hunter made himself comfortable beside him and took a bite out of one.

“Hey, these are pretty awesome,” he remarked with a full mouth, but his usual enthusiasm was kinda missing.

They ate until the whole box was empty and then drank their by then tepid coffees in silence, trying to ignore the heavy atmosphere of upcoming doom.

"So, I really hate to be the one to break it, but I have no clue how to handle the Argents. I’ve never worked with them before, and as far as I know, neither has my dad, so I don’t really know their procedure. And if it's true that they are watching us with snipers at the ready, which by the way is really over the top and kinda fucked up -"

"They are, that's exactly their kind of thing," interrupted him Derek, leaning back on his arms, braced against the mattress.

"Okay. Wow. Anyway, do you have any suggestions, wolf boy?" Dean hopefully glanced over at him, waiting for an answer. Derek, however, was just sitting there, showing off his long, sleek body, and dangling one of his legs. His thick brows were relaxed, but his mouth was tense, lips thinned out with their angles pulled downwards.

It took a while for him to finally talk: "Just hand me over. If it had been only those idiots of two days ago, we could have handled it. But we literally don’t stand a chance against a whole group of them. They would leave you alone afterwards. At least one of us can make it out of this safe and unharmed.”

Dean's eyes widened at the werewolf’s suggestion and the casual way it was spoken. He glared at the kid and kicked his swinging leg, pushing him off balance in the process. Derek emitted a soft grunt and composed himself, glaring back as if to say “what the hell was that for?!”.

"Shut the hell up. Don’t you talk like that. I told you I was gonna watch your back. I told you we were in this together and that I was gonna take care of them and keep you safe. I don’t care about their stupid proposal. We either come out of this alive both or go down together," Dean said, then pushed himself into a standing position. He started to restlessly pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Handing Derek over was out of the question. He had known this kid for less than two days and he was a werewolf on top of that – it was stupid putting his own life at risk for him, seen from a rational point of view, but Dean couldn't help the way he felt. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of the boy over the short period of time they had spent together. Not to mention how much having him by his side had filled the gaping void in his chest Sam had left behind. And anyway, being a hunter, he risked his life all the time for strangers, so was this really that different? Yes, it was. This was way more personal.

"There is a way, maybe..." Derek's voice cut through his thoughts.

"What way?" Dean asked, interested, coming to a halt next to the small motel table and leaning against it with his butt.

"Well... I’m not exactly at my full strength right now, since I've been wandering around without a pack for a while. Actually, I'm pretty sure..." Derek's eyes widened, as if he had just come to a realization he really didn't like. "I think objectively seen I can pretty much be considered an omega, by now..."

"Yeeah...? And this is helping us how...?" inquired Dean with a cocked eyebrow.

“I’d be much stronger if I had a pack again. Especially if I had an alpha. Alphas and betas make each other stronger."

"Woah, hold your horses, wolfy, are you suggesting, what I think you’re suggesting?" Dean asked, horrified. He didn't even let him answer, before continuing: "Because let me tell you - I'm not turning into a werewolf and if you even try to nibble on my ear, I'm gonna kick your ass six ways from Sunday!"

Dean glared at the other male, who just stared back at him, unimpressed.

"That's not what I was suggesting. Doesn’t work that way anyway, sadly. Only an alpha's bite can turn. And a werewolf is either born an alpha or becomes one by killing one. To be fair, I'm not even sure how what I'm suggesting really works. I read about it once, in a book we used to have in our library, but I haven't exactly witnessed anybody doing it before. Call it werewolf psychology," Derek explained. He stood up and slowly walked over to Dean, hesitant to meet his gaze. Dean waited a few seconds, but as no further words were spoken, he rolled his eyes and groaned: "Could you stop it with the suspense?"

"You could trick my wolf side into believing you're my alpha. It’s only temporary, but it’d boost my powers enough to make the difference probably.” Derek finally revealed.

"Those guns wouldn't kill you anymore?" asked Dean, ignoring the whole him-maybe-being-about-to-become-some-freaky-alpha-part, momentarily.

"Oh, they would. Not even an alpha is immune against them. But I'd be much faster and stronger and it probably wouldn't even come to the point where I’d need to worry about that."

Dean nodded. He met Derek's gaze as the kid shortly raised his eyes and noticed how uncomfortable he looked.

"So... uhm... and how the hell would I become your alpha?" he finally asked, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He had seen porn with less ambiguous lines. Derek seemed to feel the same, as he blushed lightly and hesitated before answering: "Yeah, well. That’s the… that’s the weird part. You would have to make me submit to you."

The most awkward of awkward silences followed. Dean was afraid his eyes would pop out of his head, they felt so wide.

"Is that... is that a sexual thing?"

"What?! No! I mean - it _can_ be, but it doesn't _have to_ be, I wouldn’t have suggested it if there had been no way around sexua-"

"Okay, I get it," interrupted him Dean, saving them both from further embarrassment. He was glad this submitting thing wasn't sexual, because Dean might have appreciated a few outstanding male exemplars every rare once in a while (not that he was ever going to admit it and not like his dad and Sam knew it and ever would) and Derek might be kind of cute, too, but he wasn't about to initiate any sexual activities with a kid who could be his baby brother (and who also was total jailbait…) "So what would I have to do then? Make you roll on your back like that dog whisperer guy does with the really difficult ones? Or make you kneel in front of me and kiss my boots or something?”

Derek rolled his eyes, still a little flushed. "Very funny. I’m not a fucking dog. And neither your slave.”

The kid was quiet for a while, obviously thinking. His eyes kept darting around, as if he would find the answers in the dark grey linoleum floor or the white pop-corn-textured walls.

"I honestly don’t know, I’ve never had to submit to an alpha before. I’ve always lived under stable pack dynamics. I’ve seen my mom accept new members into our pack though. Maybe that’d work? She used to scent the potential beta to analyze and memorize their smell. Then the beta either freely bared their throat or she made them, by force. Once the beta had submitted, she’d scent mark them and then they were part of our pack." Dean thought about his dog whisperer joke of before and wondered how the werewolf’s description of the pack admittance ritual was in any way less dog-like than rolling on your back and showing your belly. He wasn’t going to mention it though.

"That's really fuckin’ weird," he deadpanned nonetheless. Derek hesitantly nodded with an “I guess it is for you” and then bluntly asked: "Should we try that?"

That's how Dean experienced one of the most awkward moments of his life. Probably even more awkward than that time his dad walked in on him jerking off to some really kinky Japanese porn (oh, God, he was never going to forget his dad’s face and they never talked about it, but were so uncomfortable around each other that even Sam noticed something was up – yeah, okay, maybe not as awkward as that time). Under Derek's instructions, he gently pushed the kid against the wall of the motel room and started to sniff his hair, neck and even his freaking armpit. It wasn't terrible - the kid's hair smelled sweetly like almonds, probably due his shampoo, his neck wore just a neutral clean smell, well maybe a little... woodsy? And his armpit smelled very lightly of sweat, which - okay, was a little gross, but all in all, it could have been worse. It was still really freaking strange sniffing another person like that though. Derek wasn't just standing idly there either, seeming to be gingerly sniffing Dean, as well, in the meantime. The hunter was sure this couldn't get any weirder, but then, Derek tipped his head back against the wall, baring his throat and instructed: "Grab my throat and tell me to submit. Then rub you cheek against me."

"Is this really necessary?" groaned Dean, but did as told. He carefully placed his hand against Derek's throat, feeling the warm, clammy skin and a slightly quicker than usual pulse against his fingers. He muttered an awkward: "Uh, submit. To me." and had to hold back really hard not to add a "bitch!" at the end of the sentence (c'mon it would have fit and been funny.) The most mortifying part was giving the kid stubble burns, but he did that as quickly and shortly as possible.

"Did it work? Do you feel dominated?" Dean jokingly asked, taking a step back once he was done. Derek stared at him, still braced against the wall behind him, not moving apart from his quickly rising and falling chest.

"No," he replied after a while, disappointed. “I don’t feel like anything changed.”

"Oh, well, I guess we're screwed then," stated Dean. "Not to mention I just experienced the weirdest shit of my life for no reason at all. But I guess it'll be useful the next time I have a conversation about fucked up kinks. ‘Sometimes I like to pretend I’m an alpha werewolf and rub my face all over yours’ or ‘let me sniff your armpit, baby, gotta remember that smell for when –‘"

"You didn't even try," harshly interrupted him Derek, pushing himself off the wall and walking right into his personal space. His eyes lit up, his fangs started to elongate and the werewolf roared at him, seemingly angered. Dean was taken aback by the sudden hostility, but didn’t even have the time to process it further, as Derek lunged at him, making him fly backwards in the process. He hit the edge of the bed with his back, before falling on the floor, and then almost didn't have the time to avoid Derek's fangs when the werewolf crawled over him and snapped at him.

"Derek, what the fuck?!" shouted Dean, bewildered. Why the hell was Derek attacking him all of a sudden?! Had he been waiting for the right occasion all along?! Had he snapped and gone crazy?! He struggled with the kid, rolling them around on the floor, while trying to keep his claws and fangs away from himself. He thought about how easy it would be to just grab the knife hidden by his ankle and shove it into the werewolf's neck. It wouldn't kill him, maybe, but it would be enough to distract him and get the hell out of there. The idea repelled him.

"Derek, damn it, calm down!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs and somehow managed to kick the werewolf hard enough in the stomach to shove him off himself instead. The latter flew backwards with a pained grunt and was sufficiently stunned for the hunter to grab him by his collar, smash him full force against the floor and pin him there by straddling his hips and pushing his hands hard against his windpipe.

"Derek," panted Dean, observing how the kid's eyes slowly turned back to their usual endearing hazel color. The werewolf looked surprised that the hunter had managed to overpower him, though if he really wanted, he could easily free himself now that he had gotten over the first moment shock. However, instead of fighting, he gasped for air, then, once he realized Dean wasn’t going to release him, slowly turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, going slack as a sign of defeat. The older male had no clue what the hell was going on, but he was too afraid Derek would snap again if he let go of him, so he just waited for a while, until the pulse throbbing against his palms had slowed down. He only released him when the kid started to shift uncomfortably and emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a protesting whine. At that point, Dean stumbled to the side, where he fell back on his ass and stared at Derek in pure astonishment, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened. The werewolf reached up to massage his throat and then confused the hunter even further by flashing him a little satisfied grin.

“Well, I’d say that was a… success,” he croaked, slowly sitting up. He glanced at Dean, somehow coyly, and added a “And I’m… I’m honestly impressed.”

They sat in silence for a long time, studying each other. The pieces slowly came together in the hunter’s head, until it finally all made sense and Dean was both relieved and angry as hell. "Son of a bitch, you tricked me?! I thought you had snapped and were trying to kill me! The freakin' scare you gave me, I thought I was gonna have to –"

“Dean,” Derek gently interrupted him. “I guessed it was our best shot. And it really _did_ work, like this.”

The werewolf’s eyes lit up at that and he inclined his head in respect. The older male just stared, at a loss for words. It was only later, when he had calmed down completely and his humous way of thinking had come back, that and he wondered if Derek had expected him to pat his head and call him a good boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I haven't lost you. Feedback of any kind is always welcome. The next chapter will mark the end of the first part of this story. Not sure if I should divide this fanfiction in parts of a series. Can't say for sure when I'll be updating next, as I'll be working a lot these days. :/ Til next time, tho. :)


	6. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet the Argents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the... When I opened this chapter it was around 4500 words long and after I finished fixing it they were suddenly ~5800! No wonder it took me fucking forever to work through this. I really hope you guys will enjoy.

They spent the rest of the day being slightly awkward around each other, while also trying to figure out how they were going to make the meeting in the evening work out for the better. Dean insisted on grabbing lunch and dinner, forcing Derek to stay behind and "be safe" in the motel room, even though Derek was rather sure when it came to danger he had a few advantages (like all of them) over the hunter. He complied though because that’s what his instincts told him to do: obey. It was really weird having his wolf feeling inclined to follow Dean's orders. Dean – whom he had known only for a short time and who wasn’t even a werewolf.

Derek's mother had always been his alpha when she had still been alive, and Laura was a true alpha, which had put her right second in command. Derek had never really experienced a drastic change of pack dynamics – not even when his mom died, as his wolf had already known, accepted and expected Laura to become his alpha someday.

And yeah, he had fantasized about having Dean as a pack mate, even more so after he realized the man truly could be trusted - but _this_ wasn't exactly what he had had in mind. He hadn’t even been sure tricking his wolf into accepting a human being as his alpha really worked. Well, it hadn’t the first attempt. Dean really overpowering him for a moment seemed to be what had really triggered the phenomenon. Obviously he could have easily gained the upper hand again afterwards, but having a human being shaking him off and consequently pin him down without the aid of any weapon had been surprising enough for him to genuinely be impressed. Dean was brave, strong and loyal. Good qualities for an alpha. Were he to get the bite, he’d probably make a great werewolf.

Too bad the bond they shared right then was gonna vanish rather soon. His wolf side was going to catch on to the fact that Dean was a simple human being. It shamed Derek a little to admit it, but no werewolf truly submitted to anybody of the human race. It was probably their most beastly instinct telling them that they were simply weaker, no matter how powerful their intelligence and weapons could make them. At the end of the day if you took everything away from them, all that was left was soft skin and easily breakable bones. When he was very young, his mother used to tell him to be careful and gentle when playing with his human cousin. It wasn’t until he accidentally broke a couple of his ribs by tackling him that he realized what she truly meant. Human beings were fragile.

However, for the time being, the link between him and Dean was almost as strong as the link between two werewolves would be. He already felt stronger and more mentally stable. It was a good feeling having an alpha around again, even if it wasn’t a real one. Derek had to think about his sister and wondered if she had noticed their bond slowly fading. He had always kept the memory of her close to his heart, so in a way he had never really considered that wandering around alone for so long would indeed break apart their small pack at some point. He knew he was getting weaker. He knew the absence of an alpha was affecting him in negative ways. He had never thought of himself as an omega before though.

"So, you ready? Are you gonna be fine?" Dean's voice cut through his thoughts.

"I guess so? It’s not like we have much of a choice," replied Derek, looking over at the hunter, who was lying on the bed, hastily flickering through TV channels, without actually bothering to check what appeared on the screen. The werewolf could clearly smell the nervousness off him. Could sort of feel it too, now, with their newly established (even if only temporary) pack bond. "I just want you to know that you're not stuck with me...If this doesn't work out the way we planned, I want you to keep up the facade. There's no point in both of us getting killed."

Dean nodded, but Derek heard his heart skip a beat suggesting he was lying. He didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse. A little bit of both.

As the time drew closer, they packed their stuff and put everything in Dean's Impala. They didn't really talk, as everything that needed to be discussed, had already been discussed, and now they could only hope luck was on their side.

They drove for an hour and a half until they reached the place where they were supposed to meet the Argents (at least according to the coordinates). Dean parked the car on the huge empty parking area of an abandoned warehouse and turned off the engine. They sat quietly there for a minute, shared one last glance and then got out of the car. Dean unholstered his gun, grabbed Derek by an arm, twisting it behind his back and pushed the gun muzzle against his back, where his heart was beating slightly faster than usual. The cold of the metal bled through Derek's shirt and he shivered, even though he knew Dean was only acting and even though normal bullets couldn't kill him. The werewolf let himself be manhandled all the way into the warehouse, where five people were waiting for them, all of them armed and pointing their weapons at them.

"Winchester! What a pleasure meeting you face-to-face! I cannot say I enjoyed very much having to talk to you through a hedge." Derek immediately recognized the mocking voice with the foreign accent. Then he actually saw whom it belonged to. It was a tall, middle aged man, with a huge scar slicing diagonally across his face. Werewolf claws, realized Derek with a hint of satisfaction. Served the bastard right.

"I must say I am a little surprised by the dramatic entrance," continued Scarface, gesturing at Derek. "You do realize though that bullets – even the silver ones – cannot kill him, right?"

Dean's grip on Derek's arm tightened and he pushed the muzzle of the gun further into the flesh of his back. He growled: "Wolfsbane bullets can."

"You know about wolfsbane? I thought the Winchesters didn't specialize in shape shifters" remarked another of the hunters surprised, an older, thin woman with short hair. She would have looked like anybody's nice aunt if it weren't for the crossbow grasped in her hands.

"Yes," Dean firmly replied. "Well, honey, you don't know anything about my family."

Scarface looked unimpressed. He stepped closer, circling them and inspecting the view as if he was looking at a mere artifact in a museum.

"You seemed quite intent on keeping this mutt safe… it is very hard for me to believe you are actually handing him over just like that," he offered, coming to a halt right in front of Derek and staring him straight into the eyes. Derek didn't even have to pretend – his eyes flashed blue and his teeth shifted before he growled and snapped his fangs at the man. Dean tugged him back, hesitating for a second too long, before hitting him in the side of the head with the butt of his gun and then pushing its muzzle against his neck. Derek froze, even though they had carefully discussed and taken into consideration the ways they would have to act following certain situation developments.

“I didn't know he was a werewolf when I attacked your men and helped him. I sure as hell wouldn’t have interfered if I had known the truth," muttered Dean. It was slightly painful to hear, as he was being sincere. Derek couldn’t help but minutely turn his head to look at his face from the corner of his eye and saw him lower his gaze in shame.

"I see, I see,” sing-sang Scarface. “So you spent a couple of days in close quarters to a monster and did not even realize it. How does that feel? What do you think your father would have to say about this matter? You are naïve to the point of shaming not only him, but the whole hunter community.”

Derek felt Dean tense up behind him. He just hoped Dean stayed clear-headed and ignored all of the provocations.

"Shut up,” hissed Dean. “He hides it well.”

"Alright, I suppose I _have_ been harsh. These born werewolves can indeed be very convincing when they are concealing themselves.” Scarface stepped around them and by the sound of it Derek supposed he was located right behind Dean. He heard him whisper: “Maybe you did not know he was a werewolf, before I said so. And maybe you did not believe me immediately either. But, my sweet boy, you kept him locked up in that motel room for the rest of the day and are unharmed. Surely he would have tried to escape and attacked you, especially after discovering you are a hunter. And now suddenly you have to restrain him and point a wolfsbane loaded gun at him? Something is terribly fishy here, do you not agree?”

Dean shifted, obviously uncomfortable by the proximity of the man.

"He knew I was a hunter from the beginning. And the only reason I’m doing this right now is to keep him from hurting any of you. He’s completely docile around me because he thinks I'm his true mate," revealed Dean. A stunned silence followed Dean's words and it would have been comical, hadn’t the situation been a rather shitty one.

"True mate…? … Well, I suppose that'd explain a few things," stated a young man who had kept himself in the background so far.

"First falling in love with Kate and then finding a mate in a Winchester... holy fuck you really are one unlucky mutt... and a fag too," chuckled one of the hunters and Derek realized it was one of the two assholes who had attacked him that night. The second asshole beside him looked simply disgusted by the revelation.

It was time for Derek to speak his lines as well.

"Do whatever you need to do with me. I've got nothing left to lose and I won't tell you anything about my sister anyway," he said, using a soft and resigned voice.

"Give us the wolf boy and put your weapons on the ground," ordered Scarface. Derek was pushed into Asshole number one’s arms, who proceeded to tightly tie up his wrists with a thick rope. It wasn’t until they started burning like hellfire that the werewolf realized it must have been elaborated with wolfsbane. He couldn’t help but hiss a little in pain, feeling like it was burning straight into his flesh. He felt Dean's gaze linger on him, as the hunter slowly crouched to place the gun and the knife at his ankle on the floor in front of him, before standing up again and taking a few steps backwards, palms bared.

Scarface hit Derek's face hard with the butt of his shotgun and Derek crashed onto the ground, dazed. The blow would have knocked out cold any human being, but in his case it just caused him a temporary head ache, as the broken bone of his nose was already starting to reshape and heal. This was perfect though. He wriggled around on the floor, until his hands were hidden from the Argents’ view and very carefully started to put pressure on the bindings, letting his usually short nails shift into claws.

"I am glad you made the right choice, Dean. I dare not imagine what would have happened if you had decided to protect the rabid dog instead. The conflicts it would have created between our families would have been devastating. I think merely in size your family would not have stood much of a chance. How many are there of you? Oh, yes. Your mother was killed if I remember correctly. So just your father and his two boys then. You and your younger brother… Sam, was it?" Scarface taunted. From the weird angle on the floor, Derek watched Dean's nostrils flare and listened to his frenzied breathing and heartbeat. He was getting worked up.

"Do you feel the mate bond?" asked the thin elderly woman curiously.

"...What? I... dunno? I guess... not?" answered Dean, sounding just as uncomfortable as he was probably feeling for real.

"Did you consummate it?" butted in Asshole number two, clearly still grossed out. Derek tried to ignore the conversation in favor of focusing on cutting through the bindings with his claws instead. The pain was starting to get really intense with the way he kept rubbing and pushing against the rope. He could have sworn is skin had dissolved wherever the bindings touched it and they were cutting right into his flesh at this point.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked the Argent, honestly confused.

“He means, did you fucking screw him or not,” harshly clarified Asshole number one.

The rope finally fell apart and Derek released a sigh of relief. The skin wasn't healing since the flesh was too infected with whatever combination of wolfsbane it had been elaborated with, but the sharp pain had stopped at least. Now all that was left was the slight burning feeling of raw skin.

“Dude, the hell… Of course I freaking didn’t!”

Derek studied the positions they were in. He was lying in front of the Argents, with his back towards Dean. It had given him the advantage of freeing himself without his hands being seen, but now it was an issue, as he couldn’t do anything else without immediately being stopped. It was Dean's turn to act and he hoped he realized it. The hunter seemed to be too distracted (and freaked out) by the questions the Argents were asking him about their “mating”, after all. Derek wondered if he should have taught Dean more about true mates, but to be honest he didn't know a lot about it either. His mother had never really told him much about it, having assumed like everyone else they had plenty of time left for that. True mates finding each other was very rare anyway, so it’s not like it had seemed very important.

Right now, it was awkward as hell for everyone involved, but hey – at least their plan had worked so far. The Argents accused other hunters of being naive, but they sure were naive themselves, Derek smugly thought.

"What are you gonna do to him?" Dean changed topic, taking a few slow steps around the werewolf on the ground as if all he wanted to do was see his face better. He bared his palms once again as he stepped over his weapons and came to a halt right next to Scarface. "If you’re gonna kill him, do it quickly. He might be a werewolf, but he’s still a kid too...”

"It is none of your business what happens to him from this point on. You did the right thing by handing him over and my family appreciates it. The Winchesters will be seen in a good light in the future."

Dean nodded, face solemn. And then surprised everyone, even Derek a little, by swinging his fist into the man's head, who fell to the ground unconscious, temple bleeding heavily. Derek used everyone's shock to his advantage and rolled into a standing position. He shifted into his beta form and pounced on the nearest guy, who happened to be Asshole number one. Dean had told him not to kill anybody, so Derek held back his rage and just knocked him out by hitting him really hard in the face. Asshole number two, who was standing nearby, was still confused enough that the werewolf easily got to do the same to him. But the surprise effect was over and the other two remaining hunters sprang into action, the woman shooting a wolfsbane laced arrow at Derek which he effortlessly dodged. He easily dodged the bullet coming from the young Argent too and distracted him long enough for Dean to walk up to him from behind and punch him in the side of the head. Derek realized the hunter was wearing a knuckleduster. No wonder his hits were being so effective.

Derek dodged another bolt, growled, as this one had come clearly closer to actually hitting him, and after jumping out of the way of other two arrows, finally got close enough to the woman to kick the crossbow out of her hands. One swing and she was down too.

“Derek, watch out!”

A shot was fired and the werewolf instinctively rolled to the side, barely missing the bullet which grazed his ribs. He crouched, twisted around to see who the hell had shot (hadn’t they knocked out everyone?!) and saw Asshole number one aiming at him from a lying position on the ground. Another shot was fired and Derek ducked, flattening himself against the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean shouted as he lunged at the Argent, trying to rip the shotgun out of his hands without getting shot himself.

"I should've known you little fags were playing all along!" hissed the man, kicking Dean in the stomach. The latter grunted, but didn't let himself be budged.

As they struggled, another shot went off, luckily hitting nobody, but Derek still panicked, afraid Dean was going to get seriously hurt. He hurried over to the two fighting men just in time to observe Asshole number one giving up on the rifle and reaching for the knife bound to his thigh instead. When he stroke out, about to bury it in Dean’s chest, the werewolf forgot about his promise and just pounced. He heard and felt the man’s arm break in his hands, as he kept it from descending upon his temporary alpha and pinned it against the ground instead. The Argent uttered a scream of pain, which was abruptly cut off when Derek crushed his windpipe with his fangs. The body beneath his twitched a few times, before slowly relaxing. It was only then that he released the man and pulled back, realizing with rising horror what he had just done.

It was one thing imagining to kill someone and another to actually _do_ it. He quickly shifted back to his human appearance and raised his eyes, desperately seeking Dean’s. An expression of shock and unbelief was on the hunter’s face.

And then, there was a low whistling sound and a bullet lodged itself into Derek’s abdomen. Their gaze shifted from each other to the werewolf’s midsection, where a small dark red patch was quickly growing in size on the grey Henley.

“No," whispered Dean, shaking his head. He looked terrified, even more so than just a few seconds ago when they realized Derek had just killed a person. Through the fog slowly building itself around the werewolf’s mind, he watched how Dean hastily grabbed the abandoned shotgun, aimed somewhere in the upper floor of the warehouse and shot a couple of times in a row.

_Of course. Snipers, right?_

Derek slowly crumpled to the side, feeling little relief when his hot face touched the cold tiles of the floor.

"Derek," pleaded somebody and the werewolf was gently turned onto his back. He raised his gaze and met Dean's wide open eyes with his own half-lidded ones. Two hands started pushing against the wound, trying to slow down the blood flow. All they did for him was making him notice he was in an awful lot of pain. "Derek, damn it, what do I do…?"

The werewolf tried to reply, but something caught in his throat and he coughed lightly, tasting blood and feeling it drip down his chin.

"Wolfsbane... bullet... need one," he weakly instructed, spasmodically moving a hand to join Dean’s which were still pressing against his abdomen. Despite the pain they caused him, he immediately started missing the comfort they seemed to have been giving him as well, once they were gone.

Dean fiddled around with the shotgun he had used to put out of action the sniper and Derek's eyes slipped closed. It was becoming harder to remain conscious, with all the blood he was losing and the wolfsbane in his system. The wound was throbbing in the faint rhythm of his heartbeat and each shallow breath he took was making him feel like a million little pins were piercing through every single inch of him.

“Shit, shit, shit, I used them all, wait,” he heard the hunter babble. Then the rustling of clothes, fast-paced steps, the clicking sounds of a gun being unloaded and then more fast-paced steps.

"Okay, I got some, what now?! DEREK!" Dean lightly slapped his face and Derek's eyes popped open again. Once his vision wasn't blurry anymore, he could see that Dean was kneeling beside him, wolfsbane bullets in one hand and the other hovering over Derek's own which was still lying on his abdomen.

"Open it... inside. Burn it..." Derek managed to gasp out, but found himself choking on another mouthful of blood. He curled a little to his side to spit it on the floor. Then he went slack.

"No, c'mon, look at me," ordered Dean, voice small. The werewolf couldn't help it when his eyes slipped closed once more instead. He was afraid this time a slap wouldn’t be enough to make him open them again. He felt Dean's cold and clammy hands push his own out of the way and graze his skin as he fumbled at his shirt, pushing it up. There were sounds of a bullet being screwed open and a zippo being lighted. Then the distinct smell of gasoline mixed up with the sweetish smell of burned wolfsbane.

"God, what now? Do I have to put this on the wound? DEREK!" Dean shook him harshly and Derek just grunted and nodded, his face scrunching up in pain from the rattling movements.

Something hot was placed on his abdomen and the pain seemed to intensify to the point he had to cry out, before slowly starting to fade. Afterwards, Derek lay quietly, trying to catch his breath and clear his mind. It took a while.

"Derek...?" Hands moved over his bare tummy, probably checking for further damage, before coming up to settle on his cheeks.

Derek’s eyes snapped open and he bolted into a sitting position, pushing Dean away from himself. He bent over and proceeded to puke a hell ton of black, sticky fluid. He heaved and heaved until all of it was out of his body and then shakily settled back, glancing over at Dean. The hunter looked traumatized and about to puke himself. He was white like a sheet.

"You okay now?" he asked - more like squeaked. Derek nodded weakly, too tired to talk, before slowly leaning forward into Dean's personal space. Luckily for him, Dean seemed to catch on to what he was silently begging for and shifted closer. He gingerly enclosed an arm around the werewolf’s shoulders and brought him closer to himself, not caring about the blood and vomit, as it seemed. His free hand gently brushed the hair sticking to his sweaty brow out of his face.

"Can you stand?” Dean quietly asked him. “We need to get the hell away from here, before they wake up or somebody comes,"

“Probably not…” admitted Derek. His voice was croaky and he could still taste his own blood.

“It’s gonna be okay,” promised the hunter.

They struggled into a standing position - Dean, because he had to lift most of Derek's weight and Derek, because he could indeed barely stand on his feet without his legs buckling under him. The older male pretty much carried him over to the Impala and gently guided him into the passenger seat, before running back into the warehouse. When he came back, he had a bag with him.

"We freaking killed two of them, Derek. Fuck..." he mumbled, clearly upset. He threw the bag into the backseat of the Impala. "I tied them up and took their weapons, car keys and mobile phones, which will probably give us some time, but we are so screwed nonetheless."

"I'm sorry, Dean... if it weren't for me, you would have never been dragged into this mess," apologized the werewolf. He was starting to feel a little better already, as his healing capabilities kicked in full-power.

"We need to get outta the state," was Dean's only answer.

They did so. The hunter drove for the whole night. Derek offered to take turns, as soon as he felt like he wouldn't pass out on the steering wheel, but Dean declined, saying nobody got to drive his baby but him. They didn't talk otherwise. Derek could feel the tension in the car, could smell Dean's distress and hear his slightly too quick breathing and heartbeat pattern. The fact that his wolf felt bound to him - because it still recognized Dean as its alpha, made Derek feel distressed and nervous as well. Strangely, apart from the emotions the hunter was evoking in him, he felt just numb and tired.

"I’d probably be dead now," remarked Derek at some point. Dean questioningly glanced over at him, but otherwise didn't react. "Without that trick we pulled off. You know, the alpha thing. I was really fast and able to dodge a lot of attacks I’m not so sure I would have managed to dodge otherwise. And… that bullet hit me in a quite bad place. The wolfsbane was travelling rather fast through my system, but I held on long enough."

"Is this stuff supposed to make me feel better?" asked Dean with a hint of cynicism. Derek cringed.

“I guess not... I'm just saying, I'm glad we... did that. You know. Became pack for a while. It helped."

Dean snorted but the tension seemed to bleed slightly out of him. AC/DC was playing quietly from the audio equipment and Derek listened to it for a while, trying to clear his head. Everything was so messed up. Meeting Dean, starting to travel with him. Submitting to him as if he were an alpha, even though he was just a human being. Fighting the Argents, almost getting killed in the process... He had probably never been injured so often and so badly in such a short period of time. And then there was Dean getting involved in the whole drama for him. Killing another human being for him - a werewolf. Saving his life.

He had no clue where this was going. He couldn't keep following Dean forever, it was obviously putting the hunter in too much danger. But just the thought of being alone again hurt. Especially now while he was still under the influence of their pack bond. In general, he didn't want to be an omega. He wished Dean could be his alpha for real...

Derek didn't know how long they had been on the road (the sun was already starting to rise though - so long enough), when Dean suddenly drove into the highway’s shoulder, slowly coming to a halt.

"I need a break," the hunter declared. He turned off the engine of the Impala and then opened the door to get outside. Derek sat awkwardly in his seat for a few seconds, before deciding to follow. He could finally stand and walk normally again, so he carefully joined Dean, who was leaning against the hood of the Impala and sipping from a bottle of water he had grabbed from the trunk before. He smelled even more miserable than he had in the car (and considering they sat in it for several hours where the smell had gotten really thick, it truly meant something).

"Want some?" offered Dean and Derek nodded, longing for the cool fluid to soothe his raw throat. Almost dying could leave one hell of a bad taste in one's mouth.

"Sorry about hitting you," Dean casually apologized. He sighed softly and then continued in a softer voice: "Sorry for... sorry for not stopping them, when they were hurting you..."

"It was part of the plan," Derek just shrugged it off. He wiped the rim of the bottle with a part of his shirt which was more or less clean, before screwing it closed. "What you did was dangerous though. Attacking that scarred asshole out of nowhere. I was the one supposed to attack first, remember? You could’ve gotten killed."

"If I hadn't done that, _you_ would’ve gotten killed. Well... not like that didn't almost happen anyway. God. I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.” The hunter's eyes fell to the ground, his face wearing an expression of frustration and shame. Derek shifted a little closer, the way they were basically leaning against each other and enjoyed the way his wolf seemed to rejoice at the closeness to his temporary alpha. He wanted so much… if only this could last.

"You saved my life. Twice, already. I think I owe you more than I could ever give you," he earnestly said. Dean glanced at him and Derek made sure to catch his gaze. They studied each other quietly for a while. Maybe it was because of all the blood he had lost, maybe it was the aftermath of nearly dying, maybe it was because the whole day had been a fucking nightmare to begin with - but in that instant, the werewolf found it hard to remember why he wasn’t supposed to dwell on how attractive Dean was. Because he was. He was so damn handsome, with the sun right behind him, making his contours shine as if he were some kind of divine creature. He was so damn handsome with his emerald green eyes staring straight into his own. And they actually weren’t like Kate’s at all. He didn’t know why he had ever even compared them. Dean’s were warm, kind. _He_ was warm, kind... Dean was the best thing that happened to him since the fire...

The hunter's hand slowly came up and Derek snapped out of it, rather embarrassed and a little astonished by his own trains of thought. The hand hesitantly cupped the werewolf’s cheek, who was so taken aback by the intimate touch that he flinched slightly, eyes wide. His heartbeat quickened, feelings of hope and fear battling each other. But all Dean did, was roughly rub his thumb over his chin, as if wiping away dirt.

"We should stop at the next gas station... you need to get cleaned up. We both do. But you look like you ripped somebody’s throat... never mind."

"Yeah," Derek nodded, feeling like an idiot. Dean removed his hand, looked at it and grimaced at the crumbles of dry blood sticking to it. As if his hands hadn't already been bloodied, even if he _had_ tried to wipe them clean on an old t-shirt at some point during the car ride...

"Gross," he muttered, but then offered the werewolf a little smirk. Derek tried to return the smirk. Then, they silently stood next to each other for a while, watching the sun rise.

"I just don't want them to go after my family because of something I did," Dean suddenly revealed out of the blue. "You know, that Mafia theory I had about you in the beginning isn't that wrong. Because I don't know much about the Argents, but they sure work like Mafia. Their family is their family and nothing gets outta it or comes into it without careful consideration. Which is why we other hunters know so little about them. It sucks, I mean, all that stuff about wolfsbane, mistletoe and mountain ash you told me about? They know - but they don't share. It's not okay, because we could really use information like that."

Derek slightly tensed up at the last part and glared at Dean.

"Dean, I told you about this stuff because you needed to know for what was expecting us. But I don't want you to tell other hunters. I don't want you to use it against me or other werewolves," he warned. Then, after a short moment of rethinking it: "Unless... there's no choice. If the werewolf we're talking about is completely feral or hurting innocent people."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," replied Dean, sounding offended.

"What about other werewolves?"

Dean just shrugged and his heart skipped a beat. Anger rose in Derek. He moved fast, grabbed Dean by his upper arms and pressed him firmer against the hood of the Impala. "Promise me you're not going to use it against other werewolves. I told you about it because I trust you!"

Dean frowned at Derek, but didn't push him away.

"Dude, I've never heard of a werewolf that wasn't a huge bloodthirsty son of a bitch apart from you. I'm having a few doubts this is gonna change in the future." He sighed. "But I guess. I guess, if there are others like you. Who don't hurt innocent people."

Derek relaxed a little, hands slowly slipping down Dean's arms. He nodded satisfied, because this time, Dean was being sincere.

"We should move on," muttered the hunter, gently freeing himself from Derek’s hold. He maneuvered himself around him and got back into the car. The werewolf felt slightly mortified for having disrespected who his wolf considered to be his alpha at the moment, but then reminded himself that Dean probably didn't care as much as a real werewolf alpha would. He was still subdued when he climbed into the passenger seat though.

"Next motel we come across, we're catching a few hours of sleep," announced Dean, as the Impala emitted a roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first part of this story you could say. I hope you liked how stuff turned out? 
> 
> And now I have bad news. Basically everything you have read so far was written like two years ago. It's over now. Which means, I have to start writing again. I don0t know how that's gonna turn out. O.o
> 
> If you feel like it, let me know what you thought of the first part of this fanfiction. Thanks so much for sticking around for so long! You may not have noticed but these have been almost 50 pages already. And they didn't even kiss yet - wtf... Talk about slow-paced story. xD Anyway, bye, sweeties. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr [darkness173](http://www.darkness173.tumblr.com/) or [reflections173](http://www.reflections173.tumblr.com/) ♥


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